


Seeing Is Believing

by MagicalStranger13



Category: Strange Magic - Fandom
Genre: F/M, casper au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 71,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8169241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13
Summary: "Can I keep you?"





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> And here it finally is! My surprise Halloween Potionless AU for the month of October! Hope you guys enjoy it!

The moon hung ripe and mighty in the sky, and the silvery glow it poured over the cool, clear night might’ve been serene and romantic elsewhere, but over the lofty towers of Darkstaff Manor, all was eerie and ominous. 

The grand house was pleasantly situated atop a hill overlooking a cliff beside the vast Atlantic Ocean; only a few precious miles from the coastal town of Friendship, Maine.  With its dome caps, vine-like curves, and long dusted-over glazed ceramic and glass imported from Spain many a decade ago, one could’ve mistaken it for a castle in its glory days.  Yet time and silence inflict a multitude of scars, and there was a far less flattering reputation for the mansion in the minds of its neighbors. 

At the bottom of the curved drive, two youths, a boy and girl of almost twelve, pulled up to the rusted iron-gate guarding the path.  Stepping off their bikes, they peered through the decorative, metal “D” hanging on the bars to the looming manor ahead.  It was massive and still, like a crouching beast about to spring. 

The boy swallowed a lump in his throat as his braver friend, pushed open the gate and began the trek into the property.  He hurried to keep up; the crunch of gravel beneath their feet seemed deafening, and he couldn’t decide if he preferred it over the howl of the wind through the trees, the haunting sound of someone’s dog barking in the distance, or the faint, baleful moan of the foghorn from the lighthouse somewhere on the other side of the bay.  He shrank inside his jacket against the chill, bespectacled eyes darting at every shadow thrown across the dead lawn from broken statues and various debris. 

There was nothing he wanted more in the world at that moment than to turn tail and go straight home.  Those jerks at school could bite him for all he cared, but his clammy hands fisted in his pockets, and his mouth stayed firmly shut as he resolutely walked behind his friend.  It was only _her_ opinion he really cared for. 

However, as they drew closer and closer to the wraparound porch, his determination began to shake more than his body.  The running trim and balusters were broken in places, giving the appearance of jagged teeth, and only adding to the horror of his imagination.  Cold sweat raced over his skin the second they set foot on the creaking steps and climbed up to the door.  Here, the moonlight would not reach them, and his heart pounded as they were momentarily plunged in darkness, until his friend clicked on her flashlight and hissed at him to do the same.  He almost relaxed at the return of discernable sight, but had to cover a gasp of fright with a cough when his beam of light accidentally landed on an overturned porch swing only a few feet to their left. 

Thankfully, the girl didn’t notice, and as she drew a deep breath and reached for the knob, he wished that they would find it locked tight and be forced to leave, but the hope was crushed when the latch clicked within and the door opened with an ancient groan. 

A wall of blackness greeted them, and the boy was too unsettled to move an inch, but his friend huffed and crossed the threshold, pulling him along after her by his sleeve.

All of his relief at having their flashlights diminished as they made their way into the house.  They might as well have brought fireflies to see with.  All he could tell for certain, was that they were in a large, circular room; a sort of atrium.  There was a worn red and black design on the floor.  A spiral, perhaps?  There were two staircases on opposite sides, one leading to the second floor, and the other to the third, where there was short, interior balcony before the hallway went deeper into the mansion.  Everything else about the hints of architecture he saw reminded him too much of predatory animals and bones. 

Nothing about this situation was doing a lick to calm his nerves.  He nearly jumped at the sound of his friend’s voice echoing off the walls, even in a whisper. 

“Okay, Theo.  One picture, and we’re history.”

“…That’s w-what I’m afraid of.”

He blushed at her sigh of annoyance, but obediently progressed with her towards the center of the atrium.  There was sporadic clanking, thumping, and rumbling coming from somewhere farther into the manor, and Theo bit his lip to keep from whimpering.

_It’s just an old, empty house that’s falling apart.  There’s nothing here.  Nothing!_

Alas, such reasoning wasn’t enough to make him any less reluctant.

“Steph, do we really have to do this?”

“You want everyone at school to think we’re chicken?”

“I could live with it.”

“You wuss!  Come _on_!”

Momentarily spurred by her dismissal and wanting to do _something_ to impress her, Theo marched forward with false bravado, and was rewarded by crashing into a small, round, wooden table.  The stick of furniture clattered to the floor and the noise seemed to reverberate into the very core of the mansion.  The children grabbed each other and listened with goosebumps from head to toe until every last refrain had passed.

“Whoa!"

“Oh, man!”

At Theo’s voice, Steph seemed to realize their embrace, and immediately shrugged out of it.  Almost at the exact same time, Theo froze as he thought he caught something out of the corner of his eye. 

He whipped his flashlight to an open doorway by the base of the third floor stairway. 

Nothing.

“Theo?”  For the first time that night, she sounded worried.  “Did you see something?”

“N-no.  No…I don’t see anything.”

_It was just a trick of the eyes from the flashlight glare.  Yeah, that’s it.  It was nothing, and it definitely didn’t look like eyes._

Pity his courage was draining regardless, for it sure as hell felt like they were being watched.

“Let’s just take the picture and get _out_ of here!”

Startled by his conviction, but not willing to question it, Steph fished her Polaroid camera from her backpack.

“Fine, here,” she stuffed the device into her friend’s trembling hands, “take the picture.”

Theo fumbled with the camera, constantly sneaking glances at that shadowy doorway, before something vital occurred to him.

“Wait a minute!  _I_ have to be in the picture too, or no one will believe I was here with you.”

“Just shut up and take the picture!”

“No,” Theo insisted, shoving the camera back into her hands, “ _you_ take the picture!”

Steph stomped her foot and pushed it at him again.

“ _You_ take it!”

“ _You_!”

“Take the picture, Theo!”

Fed up with her bossiness, and unaware that she was getting just as scared as he was, Theo was seconds away from smashing the damn thing on the floor and demanding they go, when a third party decided to intervene.

“Guys, guys!  Don’t fight!  _I’ll_ take the picture!”

A rush of icy air blew over the two friends as the camera was lifted from Theo’s limp grasp by an invisible force.  Lungs squeezing in their chests and hair rising on the back of their necks, the pair turned and raised their flashlights. 

Theo could do little more than croak.

“S-S-Steph?  Can c-cameras float on th-th-their own?”

“…If a…a g-ghost is h-holding it.”

“ _Is_ it a _ghost_?”

“Well the camera’s _floating_!”

“SAY CHEESE!”

The flash coincided with a tremendous scream from the children and as the sound of their fleeing the house in abject fear faded, a single Polaroid dropped to the dusty floor, and melted into the eternal image of two pale faces, mouths and eyes wide open in pure, terror.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“…and to the Save the Dolphins Foundation: $11 million.  To the Save the Pumas Foundation: $1.2 million.  To the Patagonian Wasp Salvation Fund: $1.4 million.  To the Dyslexic Dalmatians Foundation-”         

“To hell with the livestock.” A smooth, southern, male voice curtly interrupted.  “What'd the old stiff leave _me_?”

The voice belonged to a Mr. Roland Dempsey.  A dashing, young gentleman with clear, lightly tanned skin, perfectly coiffed, sunshine golden curls, and emerald green eyes that matched his tie and the neatly folded handkerchief in the breast pocket of his expensive, tailor-made, black suit.  All this, combined with his straight, pearly-white teeth, chiseled jaw, and athletic build, meant he had a face and body Adonis would eat his heart out for.  Women all over, threw themselves at him for his looks and affluent lifestyle.          

Too bad he didn’t possess an equally beautiful personality.

He was so sick of sitting there in that stuffy room, listening to a moron drone on and on about the various, and downright _ridiculous_ , animal charities that were getting all the dough only _he_ deserved.  Seriously, how many of those damn things were there? 

In his opinion, all the world needed were delicious cows, fish, chickens, and pigs.  The rest could go the way of the dinosaurs, for all he cared. 

His own lawyer and college friend, Trey, shot him a distressed look for his rudeness, but Roland ignored him, as usual.  Really, what was the point of being suave and charming when there wasn’t even one hot chick in the room for him to pick up?  It wasn’t worth the effort.

“Um,” Trey cleared his throat, “I believe that what the _bereaved_...is trying to express, is that the sudden death...of his _business partner_ has left a great gaping void...in his bank- In his _life_!  Roland wonders what he has left him to…fill it up with.”

Unimpressed, the attorney scanned the two young men before going back over the papers.

“Hmm.  Let’s see…”

“By the way, where are the lovely Springfield daughters today?”  Roland asked as he twirled a lock of his glossy hair,

“Miss Marianne requested that she and her sister hear the reading of the _family_ will _privately_ and on an earlier date.  Oh, and also to tell you to, quote: ‘eat a dick’, Mr. Dempsey.”

Roland scowled, but said nothing.

“…bobcats…owls…… _snakes._ ”

The attorney glanced pointedly at the increasingly impatient blonde.

“Partner: Roland Dempsey…”

Said partner’s eyes widened greedily and he leaned forward in his seat.

“…Darkstaff Manor in Friendship, Maine.”

.

.

.

“And?”

“ _And_ I’m late for lunch,” the attorney replied, already stuffing the will back into his briefcase and rising from the table, “so if you’ll excuse me.”

Roland’s hands balled into tight fists and he glared at the man, hardly able to believe his ears.

“Are ya tryin’ to tell _me_ that I just spent the last five years, workin’ with that stupid old geezer, waitin’ for him to kick it, and all I get in return is _one_ lousy piece of property?!”

“No, it was _lousy_ fifty years ago.  Now, it’s _condemned_.  The late Mr. and Mrs. Springfield purchased it for you and their daughter as a wedding present, but the engagement was off before they could renovate it.  They never got around to selling it, so… _enjoy_.”

“Wait a minute!”  Roland shouted, stumbling out of his chair and sending it crashing to the floor.  “This ain’t fair!  I'll contest it!  Then I'm gonna drag you and every one of those damn dolphins into court!”

“Knock yourself out.”  The attorney shrugged, and then promptly left the room.

Roland stood gaping at the closed door, his increasing heart rate thudded in his ears.  This couldn’t be happening.  Everything was spinning out of control, and he didn’t like that. 

He was Roland Dempsey. 

He was _always_ in control! 

Ever since he’d graduated college, he’d been working side by side with Mr. David Springfield, with every intention of inheriting his vastly successful farming equipment business. 

Originally, he’d planned on pocketing the family fortune as well, by marrying Springfield’s eldest daughter, Marianne, but that plan went to hell when she caught him in bed with his secretary a week before the wedding. 

Thankfully, her pride had been his saving grace, for she didn’t say a word about it to anyone.  She just dumped him and left it at that.  Two years passed, and he’d tried to win her back, but she wouldn’t budge.  Her parents and younger sister were baffled, but could also do nothing to sway her. 

Well, at least he had the company to look forward to, or so he thought.  If this will proved anything, is was most likely that David had developed suspicions about what had happened between his daughter and his partner, or maybe Marianne had finally come clean. 

What other explanation could there be?!  He already knew that the lousy bastard had broken up his massive corporation into three separate branches, so that the employees would still be safe, but then to find out he’d also liquidated the remaining assets into charity money for fucking Noah’s Ark, leaving Roland with nothing but the management position of the largest branch (a position he had _no_ intention of taking), and a rundown shack in God-forsaken Maine?! 

And obviously, the _family_ inheritance had all gone to the girls! 

Dammit, dammit, God- ** _dammit_**!!!  If only he knew where Marianne was, he’d make sure to get even with that ungrateful, nosey bitch! 

“Trey!  This is all _yer_ fault, as _usual_!”  Roland snapped.  “If ya would’ve just _forged_ their damn wills, like I told ya!”        

His lawyer friend, however, wasn’t paying any attention.  He was eagerly rifling through the folder Springfield’s attorney had left behind containing information about the mansion.

“Roland, this is condemned _seafront_ property!”               

“Oh, fer cryin’ out loud!”

Roland stomped back over to the table and snatched the documents out of Trey’s annoyingly optimistic grasp.      

“Don’t ya get it?!  _Flipper_ got more money than _me_!”

With that, he strode across the room and tossed the folder into the blazing fireplace. 

“Roland!”  Trey shouted in protest as he scrambled out of his seat.  “The deed’s in there!”

He threw himself on the floor and clumsily tried to extract the papers from the flames, singeing his fingers and the palm of his right hand for the trouble.

“Oh!  Ouch!  Ow!  Ouch!”

Roland rolled his eyes at Trey’s antics and turned away, just as the latter began to notice something peculiar happening on the back of the deed due to the heat.  He paused and peered closer at the document as words in faded, but elegant, script slowly appeared. 

"…Buccaneers…” he read aloud, “…and…buried gold.  Darkstaff doth a…… _treasure_ hold."         

 _That_ got Roland’s attention pronto, and he rushed to Trey’s side to see the writing for himself.  Sure enough, there it was; plain as day.     

“Treasure?!  Trey, ya idiot!”  He scolded, smacking the poor guy upside the head.  “Get it out!” 

Trey did as he was told, burning his hand pretty seriously in the process, but soon, both men were gazing down at the open, sizzling folder. 

Roland read the message over and over again, while the wheels in his head spun about a mile a minute.  Judging from the yellow tint of the paper, this was the original copy of the deed from when the mansion was built in 1913.  Whatever was in that house, coins, jewels, savings bonds, it’d all be worth _tons_ more than what should’ve been his share of Springfield’s money! 

This was it!  He hadn’t lost it all yet!  _This_ was his ticket back on the train to easy street!  He’d be retired and sitting on a beach in Maui in no time! 

“I knew that place was worth somethin’!”  He stated, grinning like the damn Joker and pacing the room in his excitement.  “There's _treasure_ in that house!  Finally, I am gonna _get_ what I deserve.”

Trey was too busy examining the angry red blisters on his hand to share in his friend’s enthusiasm.                     

“Roland, I think I need a doctor.”

“Oh, there's plenty in Maine!”  Roland dismissed, grabbing Trey’s injured hand and yanking him out of the room, disregarding his wails of pain.  

* * *

After much begging and whining on Trey’s part, they managed to get his hand bandaged at a hospital, much to Roland’s annoyance.  The delay resulted in their arriving in Friendship, Maine well after dark, _and_ in the middle of a heavy thunderstorm. 

Even through the oppressive rain and darkness, Roland scowled at the plain jane houses and smelly boat docks he saw as they passed, but he had no choice except to drive through the heart of the town, since apparently, the estate was one of the oldest buildings the harbor had to offer, and was safely tucked away at the end of its winding main road.  Like a dirty secret.   

He could not _believe_ Mr. and Mrs. Springfield had wanted him and Marianne to live in this ancient, backwater, fish pit!  Where were the goddamn bars?  The casinos?  The strip joints?  What kind of hot, super model-types would hang around this cookie-cutter wasteland?  Psh, he bet the wildest action these people saw was probably the homecoming parade.       

When they finally reached the turnoff for the manor, the downpour was lightened a bit by the thick, black overhanging trees lining the drive.  Out of the corner of his eye, Roland saw Trey shuddering, and he snorted in disgust. 

The forest around them seemed pretty deep, but it suddenly broke just before the crest of the hill, revealing cleared land, the open ocean beyond the cliff’s edge, and…

Darkstaff.

Even with Trey wiping the condensation off the windshield to get a better look, it was difficult to see clearly through the torrent, but just past the rusted, iron “D” on the gate, both men could make out the massive, unusually designed mansion waiting for them to approach.

Trey’s eyes were practically bulging out of his skull in wonder and slight apprehension.  He’d never seen anything like it, but it was reminding him of every horror movie he’d ever seen.  Suddenly, the idea of buried treasure, didn’t seem too worth it anymore.   

“What do you think?”  He asked his friend, secretly hoping that he wasn’t alone in his reservation. 

But Roland was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and staring at the house with his mouth twisted into an unimpressed frown.  In response to Trey’s question, he shot his lawyer a look of boredom, but there was a glint of mockery in his eye.

“I think yer gonna get wet.”

…

Trey, being the helpful fool that he was, got out of the car and trudged through the mud and pelting rain to open the gate.  And what thanks did he get?  Roland driving on up the path, leaving him to pathetically chase after the taillights, soaked through to the bone.  

By the time he made it to the house, Roland was waiting for him on the porch, perfectly warm and dry, shaking out their one umbrella, and impatiently tapping his heel.  He didn’t even give Trey time to wring his clothes before he was opening the front door and barging inside. 

Sighing, Trey followed him, waterlogged shoes squelching across the dusty floor. 

“ _Light_ , Trey.”  Roland grumbled.

Three clicks, and Trey’s lighter cast a dim glow throughout the spacious atrium around them.  Immediately, the lawyer forgot all about his soggy cloths and chilled skin.

“Ugh, what a dump.”  The blonde man beside him scoffed, eyeing every inch of the room with disdain.  If it wasn’t solid gold or polished marble, it might as well have been a litter box in _his_ view. 

On the flipside, Trey had never seen such unique and imaginative architecture!  Every single piece of intricately carved, sweeping woodwork, painted and stenciled tile, and decorative stained glass was practically oozing with character and value. 

All it needed was a little spit-shine, and it could easily be in the top five most beautiful homes in America.  A simple investment in clean up, and there was a guaranteed fortune to be made in selling, auctioning, or even renting!

“Wow!  This place is _fabulous_ , Roland!  You could just do so much with it!”

A flash of lightning cast harsh shadows on the walls, and the creaks and groans of the manor withstanding the storm outside seemed to increase in volume.

“...Even if it is a bit spooky.”

 “Trey, yer hand’s on fire.”

Alarmed, Trey looked over and saw that the flame he’d been sheltering from drafts with his injured hand, was now coating his bandaged thumb. 

Yelping, he blew and patted the fire until it left nothing but a black smudge.  In his struggle, the lighter had winked out, and in the renewed darkness, they were suddenly greeted by a third party:

“Hey!”

Both men froze at the unfamiliar voice.  Trey quickly flicked the lighter back on, only to find no one there, other than himself and his client. 

“Who is it?”  Roland whispered to him.

Trey repeated the question to their mysterious visitor.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”  Said the voice; it echoed through the whole of the atrium, but seemed to be originating from somewhere upstairs.

“Why not?”  Roland hissed.

Again, Trey asked the question aloud.

“It’s kind of hard to explain...”

“Is he the caretaker?”

“Are you the caretaker?”

“No.”

“Is he a transient?”

“Is he a-!  _Are_ you a transient?” 

“...No...not _exactly_.”

“Tell him to show himself.”

“Show yourself!”

“Here’s the thing: if I do, don’t scream, okay?  I get that a lot.”

Roland and Trey glanced at each other, confused.  Just what on earth was going on here?  Don’t scream?  What was that supposed to mean?

“Are you a burglar?”  Trey asked as Roland took the lighter. 

There was no response.

“I must warn you that I’m armed!”

Trey’s hand dove into his coat pocket to retrieve a weapon...which was only his cellphone. 

_~ring-ring~_

“Hello?”

Roland smacked Trey’s arm to make him hang up, and took a bold step forward. 

There was something fishy about all this.  Whoever they were speaking to sounded young; like a teenager, and a dumb kid had no business hanging around his property. 

“Listen!” He barked.  “Cut the crap, okay?  If ya don’t show yerself right now, I’m gonna have ya arrested fer trespassin’!”

“Okay, okay!”  The voice replied.  “Geez, calm down, man.  Here I come!”

There was a whoosh overhead, and something was moving swiftly down the staircase.  It was before them in seconds; humanoid in form, but also white, transparent, and floating.

The two men felt their hearts leap into their throats and their stomachs twist, as the reality of what they were seeing sank in.  They were face to face...

...with a _ghost_. 

“Hi!”  It waved with a friendly smile.  “I’m Sunny!” 

But both Roland and Trey’s only answer was a pair of terrified screams.

The ghost’s innocent grin shifted to a look of panic, and he frantically tried to shush them.

“No!  No, no, no!  Shh!  You shouldn’t do that, or you’ll wake up-!”

Whatever he was trying to tell them was cut off by a heavy rumble that seemed to shake the whole mansion to its roots.  It was as if they’d awakened a gigantic dragon in a cave. 

The ghost winced and smacked his forehead.

“Too late.”

With that, he vanished into thin air and a powerful icy gale blew through the space, snuffing out the lighter. 

Up from the floor rose a blueish fog, swirling like a tornado, and rapidly increasing in size.  A deafening howl beat at the men’s ears, and to their terror, they began to discern a face in the rushing mist. 

It was hideous; all sharp and gaunt, with blood red eyes and a demonically cruel scowl that struck fear into their very bones.  Opening its mouth, it revealed a row of jagged fangs, and roared at them like a man-eating tiger. 

Now shrieking and crying, the men turned and fled from the room, tripping over each other as they booked it back to the car, no longer caring for the relentless torrent of rain and leaves swirling in the wind.  The tires skidded on the slick gravel as they tore down the hill, both swearing they could hear an evil laugh chasing them all the way to the gate. 


	3. Chapter 3

So...

Darkstaff manor was haunted.

Haunted by a vicious poltergeist that wouldn’t let _anyone_ in the house; let alone, scour for buried treasure.    

Fan _tastic_!

First, Roland had been gypped out of a fortune, then had his entire system of beliefs _violently_ shifted, and now he was faced with a spiritual roadblock in his mission to locate some free money that was rightfully _his_!

Talk about a shitty Monday.

For the next _year_ , Roland put calls in all over the East Coast.  A barrage of Catholic priests, paranormal investigators, psychics, and even voodoo witchdoctors came to try and... _exterminate_ the problem. 

They all ended the same way, and some of it was Exorcist levels of freaky!  Sprays of pea soup vomit, heads twisted around _without_ the necks being snapped, and of course, the standard cold winds, thrown furniture, slamming doors, and constant maniacal, disembodied cackling and wailing. 

Nothing worked.

The following summer was wasting away to the teasing kisses of another encroaching autumn.  The lush, green leaves were just beginning to bleed into bright shades of fire red and gold.

But Roland was immune to all the growing natural beauty of Maine on the cusp of August and September.  He was losing his patience, _fast_. 

“What do we do now, Roland?”  Trey asked him one day, after the _fourth_ self-proclaimed ghost exterminator and _failure_ fled the premises, without even grabbing his check.  

“What do I _usually_ do when somethin’ stands in my way?”

He was nothing if not persistent, especially when it came to the pursuit of accumulating more wealth, and he was not about to let any lost souls get in his way.  They were dead; they had their chance.

It was time for the dearly to depart.

His final solution was a full crew demolition team, complete with bulldozers and wrecking balls, practically crawling all over the property.  He gave the men free reign to smash anything they saw, even the dilapidated statues on the overgrown lawn.  

As the machines and workers roamed around, Trey eyed them all and nervously muttered to Roland:

“Um, are you sure we’re not going a _tad_ overboard here?”

A wrecking crew was expensive, but at this point, Roland couldn’t even pretend to care.  Spend money to make money, and all that......even if he was down to his last few hundred grand. 

“Trey, I’ve huffed an’ I’ve puffed.  Now I wanna rip this place down.” The blonde said, flicking his cigarette ash to the dirt.  “I want my treasure, an' they can’t haunt a pile o' rubble.”

A chorus of screams seemed to contest his statement as a majority of the crew, who had been checking the inside of the house came sprinting through the front door and off the porch. 

Leaves and dust blown from an impossible source followed them, and a veritable orchestra of clashes, clanks, and heinous roaring laughter could be heard ringing through the crisp air. 

“PEOPLE!  PEOPLE, PLEASE!”  Roland shouted as the project turned to utter bedlam. “YER BIG, TOUGH CONSTRUCTION GUYS, FER CHRIST’S SAKE!  TREY, DO SOMETHIN’!”

Trey’s ‘ _something_ ’, was to fall on an unsupervised lever, which caused the wrecking ball to slam right into the passenger side of somebody’s Range Rover. 

_Fuck, fuck, **fuck**!_

At the end of the lane, cars were peeling past the gate, filled to the brim with terrified and squealing workmen, all racing each other to get the hell outta Dodge. 

No one noticed the lone apparition chasing them, fruitlessly trying to explain.

“Wait, _wait_!  He was just kidding!  Honest!”

But it was no use.  They were all gone, and the gate swung shut with an ancient creak.   

“Oh, every _time_!”  Sunny groaned, clutching the bars and sadly bowing his head through the space in the iron “D”.  “All I want is a friend...” 

* * *

How long had it been like this?  Sunny would be at a loss to count the seemingly endless stream of empty, melancholy years in this unforgiving purgatory.  He remembered virtually nothing about his life other than his name.  Everything else was as distinctive as cobwebs on water; vague, filmy, with hardly any substance solid enough to be worth thoughtful perusal. 

It was easier to just ignore it.

And forget.

Unfortunately, deliberate ignorance of the murky past did not cure the loneliness of the present.  He had no company besides his ‘uncle’, and the caretaker, whenever she came, and though the woman was kind, if not a bit odd, she wouldn’t live much longer and there wasn’t much a _very_ old woman could have in common with a teenage spirit. 

His uncle was the complete opposite.  The caretaker was the only one who could sort of rein him in, but Lord help anyone who crossed his path, whenever she wasn’t around, which was pretty often lately, thanks both to her age and Mr. Roland Dempsey. 

Mostly, Sunny just avoided his uncle as best he could when the guy was home and lurking about; there were only so many bitter insults, frightening pranks, and general hostility he could endure in one sitting.          

For small amounts of time, he could leave the premises entirely to have a change of scenery, but eventually, he would have to go back to these desolate halls.  He couldn’t help it.  It was a _super_ fun rule about the afterlife.  When a soul wouldn’t cross over, it was tied to the location where it left the body.  If it stayed away too long, a strange, almost magnetic inner pull would grow stronger and stronger until it was physically (so to speak) _forced_ to return.   

Therefore, he was trapped in this looping cycle of restless and dismal isolation. 

His uncle reveled in scaring the daylights out of anyone and everyone he caught who dared to enter their domain, and even if _he_ didn’t find them, they all fled from Sunny in the exact same manner, no matter how friendly his voice, nor how bright his smile.  

Some people might think it’s not so bad...being a ghost. 

You could turn invisible, go through walls, change shape, fly, use telekinesis, and a laundry list of other things, even a few not so nice tricks like possession and creating hallucinations; coincidently, his uncle’s _favorites_.  

The ability to manipulate electricity in various appliances made the task of whiling away the dreary, silent days somewhat more bearable.  Sunny would spend hours on end, mindlessly flipping through the old fashioned television set. 

It really only served as background noise, for there was very little Mr. Rogers could do to cheer him, considering how on the next channel, there’d often be some cartoon from the 50s depicting a character getting comically spooked by “a g-g-g-ghost!”.  It was no joke to poor Sunny. 

_Sorry, Mr. Rogers, but me being myself is nothing to celebrate._

Snorting, he switched stations again and came up on Hard Copy, a tabloid news show that was obsessed with juicy political scandals, gratuitous violence, and other quirky or brow-raising stories.  At the moment, it was better than nothing.

“More on the Pentagon playboys as the story unfolds...” Host Terry Murphy stated before the next segment headline popped up beside her head, “...but now, step aside, Sigmund Freud.  Jump back, Joyce Brothers.  It’s Dr. Marianne Springfield, therapist to the dead?” 

Sunny cocked his head to the side.  He was familiar enough with self-proclaimed psychics and mediums, but this was a new one.  The headline picture was of a pretty young woman in her mid to late twenties, short brown hair in a pixie cut, dark purple make up, and a very serious expression.  To be honest, she reminded Sunny more of a punk rocker than a therapist. 

“Are you depressed, anxious?”  Murphy went on as the camera showed exterior shots of a wooden building in a southwestern, desert town; the hanging sign said it was Dr. Springfield’s office.  “Are you lonely?  Do you need someone to talk to?  No problem, if you’re a ghost.”

Interest piqued, Sunny scooted a little closer in his seat.

A shot of Dr. Springfield being interviewed came on.

“You can call them ghosts, if you like,” she explained in a firm voice, “or as I prefer, the living impaired.  But the bottom line is, they need help sometimes.  Just like the rest of us.”

Murphy took over again as the TV showed a picture of a portly, bearded man arm in arm with a smiling, platinum blonde lady. 

“After the sudden, tragic death of her parents, Dr. Springfield gave up conventional psychiatry and, some say, conventional sanity.”

To punctuate the dig, the camera focused in on Dr. Springfield appearing to meditate with a crystal over a pentagram and handful of candles. 

“Now, along with her loner sister Dawn, over whom she has legal guardianship, the doctor travels from town to town, searching for paranoid poltergeists, scared specters, the depressed and dead.”

The scene changed to the outside of a high school, with a cameraman and reporter following a teenager, and as soon as her face was onscreen, Sunny gasped.

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.  Dawn was the perfect name for her.  Her hair was sunlight gold, and her eyes as blue as the summer sky.  If he still had a heartbeat, it would be racing.  He felt a wave of calm and affection swaddle his incorporeal form.

“Miss Springfield, how do you feel about what your sister does for a living?”  The reporter demanded.

“Could you please not ask me any questions?”

It was blatantly obvious that she was annoyed with the embarrassing attention, but was attempting to be as polite as she could.  Random students in the background were watching and whispering at the spectacle.  Sunny winced in sympathy.   

“Do you believe in ghosts?”  The reporter continued, undeterred.

“...”

“Have you ever seen one?”

“...”

“Does your sister ever hurt you?”

 _That_ got a reaction.

“She’s my _sister_!”  Dawn replied incredulously. 

“Could you just talk to us?”

Sunny had seen Hard Copy use these tactics before to get a rise out of their subjects, and possibly steer the details in a more sordid direction.  It was a testament to the girl’s patience and perhaps familiarity with these situations when she whirled around and addressed the reporter in a controlled and diplomatic tone:

“Look, it’s the first day of school, and I’m sure I’m gonna have homework, so would you please?”

Thankfully, her request was heeded as if it was a decree from a princess, and the rest of the segment droned on, but Sunny had stopped listening.  His mind was buzzing with an idea; a crazy, dangerous, and likely guaranteed to fail idea that he shouldn’t have even presumed to consider.  But he was so desperate for true companionship and Dawn was...was...

Oh, he just _had_ to meet her!  He’d give _anything_ for a chance to talk to her!

And maybe her sister really was a legitimate ghost shrink!  Maybe she could help him too! 

He knew his uncle would be gone until next weekend, but surely Dr. Springfield wouldn’t be as cowardly as everyone else?  She would know how to handle it!  It was her job, after all! 

Of course, there was always the possibility that it could all go wrong, and his uncle would give him hell, but Sunny couldn’t bring himself to care enough to reconsider.  He was sick of this pointless existence, stuck in the middle, with no one to care for him. 

The decision was made, then and there...but how would he get them to come here?

.

.

.

“Roland!”

Fast as lightning, Sunny darted out the open window and into the twilight evening, in seconds, he was over the forest trees, down the hill past the property line and heading straight through the winding roads into the quiet, harbor town of Friendship, Maine. 

He had to be quick, while the story was still airing, so he zapped himself into the powerlines and, like an electric current, he followed the appropriate one up Main Street, to the only “fancy” hotel in the area.  

Slipping through the wall into Roland’s suite, he passed through the television cable and used a burst of energy to turn it on and put it to the correct channel.  Unfortunately, Roland, clad in a bathrobe and a towel wrapped around his head, was too preoccupied with his phone call to notice. 

“No, not ‘I ate fish’.  I _hate_ fish!  Don’t ya people have cows here?  Listen, I’ve had a long an’ tryin’ day.  Do ya think ya could bring me a pint o' Haagen-Dazs ice cream, rum raisin, an’ a Diet Pepsi?  Think ya can handle that?”

By then, Roland had angrily paced into the bathroom, still unaware of the TV.  Thank goodness for the wheels in its stand; Sunny rolled it directly in the path of the open doorway, so he would have to see it when he came out. 

“Now ya want me to hold?!  Ugh, _fine_!”

The businessman spun around with a huff, still cradling the receiver between his cheek and shoulder, but he froze as he finally saw the program.  He looked puzzled for just a moment, but when Dr. Springfield was shown, his jaw dropped.

“...With therapy, they can begin to process the pain.  They can pack up their emotional baggage, and they can move on...”

Sunny wanted to whoop for joy as Roland crept toward the screen with wide-eyed intrigue.

“My Harry passed away five years ago,” claimed a former patient; her face was blurred to protect her identity, but it was clearly an old woman, “but he was so miserable, his spirit wouldn’t leave the apartment.  So I called Dr. Springfield.  She came over, and in a few weeks, Harry left, smiling.”

Roland shook his head with a chuckle, and an incredulous grin took over his features as Dr. Springfield concluded:

“The living impaired are known for haunting us.  My question is, what’s haunting them?  It’s a lack of resolution.  Ghosts are simply spirits without resolution; with unfinished business, and it’s my job to find out what that is.”

As Terry Murphy wrapped up the segment, Roland’s disbelieving grin grew rather devious and smug, his brain was already formulating a scheme. 

“So the rumors were true.”  He muttered to himself, before smirking at one last displayed image of Dr. Springfield.  “Well, looks like we’ve got some unfinished business of our own, buttercup.”  

The operator came back on the line just as Murphy disclosed the current location of the doctor and her sister.  Santa Fe, New Mexico. 

“Yes, I’m still here.”  Roland purred into the phone.  “Get me Santa Fe.”

Sunny hadn’t a clue what the man’s seemingly familiar behavior meant, but it sure sounded like his plan was a success!  He was so excited, he swirled and sang all the way back to the manor.  He had another chance, and this time, things would be different! 

At last, he was going to make a friend and this time, no one was going to ruin it!  Not his uncle, not the house, not even himself...     

 


	4. Chapter 4

_Don't tell me what it's all about~_

_'Cause I've been there and I'm glad I'm out~_

_Out of those chains those chains that bind you~_

_That is why I'm here to remind you~_

Dawn Springfield sighed as she gazed forlornly out the car window at the barren, scorching New Mexican desert.  The landscape perfectly matched her mood: dry and desolate. 

Here they were again, loaded up in this crummy station wagon, and puttering along the interstate; this time, heading to Maine of all places!  Honestly, at this point, it wouldn’t matter what state they went to, she was still faced with starting all over again in an unfamiliar town and high school with absolutely _no_ friends.  To make matters worse, she was going to be a _senior_ this year. 

Normally, Dawn was as much a ray of sunshine as her namesake, but she hadn’t felt that way in forever.  In fact, right now, she wasn’t sure which she wanted to do more: cry or scream.

And her sister belting out yet _another_ one of her anti-love and romance ballads was definitely _not_ helping improve her attitude.

_Yeah that’s what you get~_

_A heart that’s shattered~_

_I’ll never fall in love again~_

_No, I’ll never fall in love again~_

Fed up, Dawn finally reached over and switched off the radio.  She never used to be this grumpy, and she hated the feeling, for it was ever-present now; following her around like an annoyingly perpetual storm cloud.  Her life was so out of control, and as much as she didn’t want to dwell on it and end up growing even more resentful, she knew the direct cause of it all was sitting right next to her.  

With the music gone, there was a brief and uncomfortable pause before Marianne spoke.

“Oh honey, I’m sorry about your Cactus Spooners.”

“ _Crooners_.”  Dawn corrected, mood souring further as her sister’s apology brought back the fresh irritation of how she’d embarrassed her at her Santa Fe high school’s choir audition by bursting in with the news that they had a new ‘ghost’ lead.

“I don’t care what they said,” Marianne went on, “you are _not_ demented.  You’re a picture of mental health.”

Dawn rolled her eyes.  Was she really this oblivious?!

“They were talking about _you_!  I mean, try explaining afterlife therapy to a bunch of seventeen-year-olds!”

Marianne sighed in that pacifying way that made Dawn grind her teeth and run a frustrated hand through her blonde curls.  Here came the blanket excuse for why she shouldn’t care what other people thought: 

“Dawn, some people go through life never questioning the norm; but you and me, we’re doing something _extraordinary_ with our lives.”

“No, _we_ aren’t doing _anything_!”  Dawn snapped, toeing off her shoes so she could sit cross-legged in her seat.  “ _You’re_ the one who’s been packing up _my_ stuff and moving me around the _country_!  In almost two years, I have been to _nine_ different schools.  I’ve eaten in nine different cafeterias.  I can’t even remember anyone’s _name_!  For once, I would just like to be in _one_ place long enough to make a friend.”

She saw the way Marianne frowned at her outburst.  It wasn’t like her to whine, but she was just so sick of pretending that this was all fine, or even _tolerable_ anymore.  She’d been the most popular girl in school back in their hometown of Albany.  Now, she was a nobody that knew no one.  Surely, her sister could understand how much that hurt?  Or was she so in denial about her own loneliness, she wasn’t able to acknowledge anyone else’s?

“Dawn, you _will_.”  Marianne assured firmly.  “Come on, we’re going to _Friendship_ , Maine!  Even _I_ might make one.”

“You better, ‘cause at this point, I think an aggressively single girl like you has a better chance of becoming a bank hostage.”

In reality, both of them knew that Marianne would be far more likely to beat her hypothetical captives to a bloody pulp, but the brunette chuckled anyway.

“You sound just like mom and dad!”

A silence befell them at the mention of their parents; a silence that was terribly heavy and cold.  There was once a time when such a comparison would’ve made Dawn let out a giggling squeal of indignation.  Now, it just made her heart twist painfully in her chest, and she couldn’t help staring at her sister.

Ever since Marianne had called off her engagement to Roland, she’d changed, and Dawn still couldn’t decide if it was entirely a _good_ change.  To this day, she hadn’t been told the whole story behind the breakup, and though she had her suspicions, her sister staunchly refused to talk about it. 

At first, it was kind of cool watching Marianne don darker colors and a more ‘punk princess’ image with her make-up, ear piercings, and outfits.  Not so cool, was how she apparently lost all sense of fun.  She threw herself into her studies and was able to graduate early with her doctorate in psychology, but she became so cynical and stern.   She seemed to snort and scoff at everything, _especially_ if it had anything to do with men and relationships. It made Dawn pretty uncomfortable, because she was so naturally sociable, she had new crushes nearly every week. 

Which brought them to the hovering.

Criminy, she didn’t understand why her sister suddenly turned into the mother of all mother _hens_ , but it drove her absolutely up the wall!  She lectured her constantly about boys, safety and schoolwork, and demanded to know exactly _who_ she was with, _where_ they were going, _what_ they were doing, and _when_ they’d be back, every single damn time Dawn went _anywhere_!  It was as if she didn’t trust her to tie her own shoes anymore.

Being non-confrontational, Dawn more or less just ignored her sister’s obnoxious behavior.  After all, is wasn’t like she was the boss of her.  She couldn’t dole out punishments; that wasn’t her responsibility.  Little did she know that things were soon going to further change in the worst way imaginable.

One single, clear, and unassuming night, their parents were on their way home from an anniversary dinner and were hit by a drunk driver running a red light.  They were both killed on impact. 

It had taken fourteen and nine hours, respectively, for Marianne and Dawn to be born, but only one second for them to be orphans.  Life was as unfair as it was cruel.   

Of course, Dawn had been devastated at the horrible and senseless loss of the two best people she’d ever known, but Marianne was a different story.  Perhaps it was merely the shock, or left over emotional turmoil from whatever happened with Roland, but Marianne’s sorrow consumed her in a way that couldn’t be healthy.  She’d always had a passing interest in the supernatural, but it quickly developed into a full-blown obsession.  Almost overnight, she decided to focus her psychiatry strictly on the dead. 

On the surface, it seemed well meaning, if not totally insane, but Dawn knew the real reason underneath it all. 

“...You’re not gonna find them...”  She whispered.

Her sister said nothing, but Dawn saw her jaw clench and her hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“...mom and dad are _not_ ghosts.” 

Marianne took a slow breath and quietly replied:

“Yes, they are.  They have unfinished business.”

Dawn wanted to argue, preferably while either yelling or pleading.  Why was she torturing them both like this?  Why couldn’t she just grieve and allow herself to move on like a regular person?  How long would this go on? 

Yet, Dawn didn’t have the strength, nor the heart, to gripe at her sister when she was so impossibly stubborn, and so sure of her theory that their parents’ spirits _were_ out there somewhere.  It felt cruel to shoot down someone else’s beliefs, especially when, deep-deep- _deep_ down, she foolishly hoped they could be true as well.  What kind of daughter would she be if she wanted otherwise?

But this was real life, not some stupid fairy tale.  You couldn’t change the past any more than you could make something appear that did _not_ exist!   

“There’s no such _thing_ as ghosts.”

She winced when she words left her mouth.  It wouldn’t make any difference in their current situation, and maybe it might’ve hurt her sister’s feelings, but if she didn’t set her straight, who would?  No, she’d make her sentiments clear until either her eighteenth birthday, or Marianne came to her senses and abandoned this whole façade. 

What she wasn’t expecting was for the car to lurch to the right, tires screaming as Marianne came to an abrupt stop on the shoulder.  She glanced around wildly, clueless as to what on earth her sister was doing.

“I’ll tell you what.”  Marianne declared, turning in her seat and gazing at Dawn with the most serious expression she’d ever seen her wear.  “You go with me this _one_ last time, and if I don’t find what I’m looking for.......it’s _over_.  No more moving, no more ghost mining.”

Dawn blinked, unable to process what she heard her say at first, but her sister’s brown eyes were gleaming and soulful, so gradually, Dawn’s insides began to bubble with a thin ray of hope.     

“You promise?”

“I _promise_.”

 _That_ made a long lost radiant beam spread across Dawn’s lips.  Marianne might be whacko and totally ruining their lives right now, but she knew she would never _ever_ break a promise to her little sister.  She was all she had.     

“Deal!”  Dawn gushed, holding up her pinkie for their special handshake. 

Marianne firmly hooked their fingers and smiled.

“Deal.”

They got back on the road, with Dawn in a significantly better state of mind.  Just one last time, and finally, things would be normal.  She would have a home, friends, and never be alone again.  Now she just had to survive the rest of the trip.

“Hey, what did that sign back there say?”

“Los Angeles: 843 miles.”

“Shit!  Hang on.”

“And my big sister’s terrible sense of direction strikes again!”

“Aw, shut up!”

* * *

As they drove across the states and Dawn busied herself with cheerfully picturing the kind of house they’d permanently settle into after all this was done, Marianne was, frankly...

... _panicking_. 

She had every intention of keeping her promise to her sister, but...she just had no idea _how_ she would manage it.  

The girls had been born into the upper class; in fact, many would say they were the American royalty of upstate New York.  Their father had started his farming equipment business in college and had already built a fast-growing empire by the time he met their mother.  Their mom was old blood.  Her vast family fortune of pharmaceuticals could be traced all the way back to Europe, before the Pilgrims came over. 

When...they died, their wills were arranged in such a manner that her dad’s company would be partly liquidated for charity, and the remaining would be split into three lesser branches, keeping the employees positions secure, if they planned to stay on. 

As for their mother’s money, that all went to her daughters, but there was a catch.  It was locked in a trust fund that they could only access for a set amount every five years. 

The late Mr. and Mrs. Springfield may have been loaded, but they were definitely not extravagant.  They had taught their children the value of a dollar and how to spend wisely.

Unfortunately, this was where Marianne had truly shot herself in the foot.  Her manic desire to find her parents had clouded her rational judgement when it came to finances.  Even with their inheritance and the extra she got from selling their home in Albany, it was damn expensive moving all over the country, and getting paranormal therapy jobs first off, were few and far between, and secondly, couldn’t pay very well.  She had to trade in her mom’s Acura Integra for this crummy station wagon, and enroll Dawn in public school to preserve funds, but regardless, they were getting closer and closer to being flat broke as each day went by. 

And the trust fund would not be opened to them for another three years. 

That was why she’d even agreed to take on this mysterious client in Maine in the first place.  The gas price alone would’ve made her keel over, but they’d offered $500,000 for the removal of their ghost. 

 _$500,000_!  She’d never have _dreamed_ of such luck!  

Still, she was incredibly worried.  What if it was too good to be true?  She was no stranger to people stiffing her compensation for arbitrary reasons; the main one being that they hadn’t actually seen a ghost leave with their own eyes. 

Yes, despite every spooky joint she’d ventured into, and every tragic backstory she’d been told, to this day, Marianne had never met a ghost.  The most she could ever claim was feeling a presence but that could simply be brushed off as her imagination getting worked up over the creepy atmosphere.  Honestly, her interference had mostly just been for the peace of mind of the deceased’s friends and family.  It was better than nothing, she supposed, but it made her afraid that this really was all a lost cause.  That she truly would never see her parents again, and never have the chance to say goodbye.

But by far, the worst part about all this was poor Dawn.  She used to be so joyous and full of life, but now she’d transformed into someone Marianne barely recognized anymore; so sullen and withdrawn.  And the doctor knew she had no one to blame but herself.  Dawn should be hanging out with friends, joining school clubs, going to pep rallies and games, not living the life of a nomad.  She was being robbed of some of the best years of her life; she needed stability.       

Marianne hated that her sister was ashamed of her and her ambition, but in all fairness, she would’ve been just as embarrassed.  She remembered what it was like to be a teenager. 

This had to end for Dawn’s sake, no matter how much Marianne desperately wanted to keep on searching.  She had a responsibility to her sister.  Hopefully, this final adventure would be ultimately satisfying for both of them.     

* * *

In three days, the girls made it to Maine.  Almost as soon as they’d reached New England, they rolled down their windows to inhale the crisp, clean air of the lush east coast.  The famous autumn colors were almost in full bloom, and as they exited the interstate and followed the signs to Friendship, both of them shared a nostalgic look. 

“I’ve sure missed our neck of the woods.”

“Me too, Dawn.”

The town of Friendship was provincial, but very cute.  Driving by the harbor, they inhaled the smell of the open sea.  So much better than Santa Fe.  Perhaps, they could put down roots here?  It was a possibility...

They soon were past the suburbs and following a single winding road leading further into the countryside.  Marianne’s instructions were to meet the client at the location of the haunting, which would also be their lodgings for the time being. 

If it hadn’t been for Dawn’s keener eyes, she would’ve missed the turn into the overgrown drive.  The forest surrounding the path up to the house was thick and curled over, as if trying to block out any trace of sunlight overhead.  Marianne saw her sister shrink in her seat a bit.

When at last, they breached the woods and arrived at the top of the hill, the gate was open and a brown Chrysler was parked ahead waiting for them.  But neither Marianne nor Dawn acknowledged any of this as they pulled to a stop beside the porch steps, for they were too struck speechless by the impressive building looming before them.

Darkstaff Manor. 

Marianne had been intrigued by the name since the moment she’d heard it over the phone, but she never would’ve imagined it would be so imposing and fascinating in person! 

A carpet of dead leaves and grass covered the ground, and vines clung to its curving walls and looming, domed towers.  It creaked and groaned with age, and a crow cawed as it flew away from one of the five chimneys.  Crumbling Grecian statues and remnants of long forgotten marble outdoor structures dotted the veritable jungle of a lawn.  Was this a house or a _castle_?  Dear God, what this place must’ve looked like in its heyday! 

“Wow.”  Marianne breathed, getting out of the car to gawk in spellbound wonder.  “It’s not so bad, huh?”

Dawn grimaced, but shrugged.

“If you’re Stephen King.”

Their examination of the property was deterred by the sound of a car door shutting.  A man had climbed out of the Chrysler and was cautiously approaching them. 

Marianne automatically opened her mouth to greet who she assumed was her client, but stopped short.  The guy was rather nondescript, but...she could’ve sworn she’d met him somewhere before.  And why did he look so _guilty_? 

The horrible answer came when the autumn stillness was broken by the sound of another car approaching fast. 

Spinning around, Marianne’s stomach dropped when she saw an all too familiar green BMW skid to a halt three inches behind her bumper, boxing her in, and out stepped the absolute _last_ person on earth she ever wanted to see again.

“ROLAND!”

    


	5. Chapter 5

Marianne’s cheeks burned red with fury and embarrassment, so much so, is was a wonder nothing in the immediate vicinity didn’t instantly catch on fire.  Her teeth ground together so hard, her jaw throbbed with pain, as a ghastly scowl marred her features.  Purple painted fingernails dug cruelly into the flesh of her trembling palms.    

In short, she was absolutely _livid_. 

How dare he?

How _DARE_ he lure her here under false pretenses?!  How many times did she have to tell him that they were over, for _good_?!  That she hated his guts and hoped he’d jump in a meat grinder?!  She should’ve known that not even two years apart would deter him and the pathetic depths he was willing to sink to. 

But this.

 _This_ was going _too_ far!

All the money and gas they’d wasted driving across the country!  It made her want to scream and pummel him to dust.

“Hey there, buttercup!  Long time, no see!”

On second thought, that last part didn’t sound like such a bad idea. 

“Dawn, get in the car.”  Marianne ordered, sliding into the station wagon and fumbling with her keys and seatbelt.  “We’re leaving!”

“Huh?  But we just _got_ here!”  Dawn objected, not understanding her sister’s sudden shift in demeanor.

“I said _get_ in the _car_ , Dawn!” 

“What’s your problem?  It’s just Roland!”

“Dawn, I _mean_ it!  Get your-!”

“Well, I’ll be!  Is that _you_ , Miss Dawn?”  Roland gushed, striding around his BMW to the teenager’s side and cupping her chin in one hand to get a good look.  “Bless my soul, look how big you’ve gotten!  Yer growin’ into quite the beautiful young lady, aren’t ya?  I can’t tell ya how happy I am that ya came all the way to Darkstaff!”

Dawn’s eyes pinched in discomfort at his overly enthusiastic grip.

“Um, thanks?  But you’re kind of hurting my face.”    

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER, YOU PRICK!”

Raising said hands in surrender, Roland stepped back as Marianne rounded the vehicle, nostrils flaring and looking about ready to bite something. 

“Sorry, just makin’ an observation.”

“You touch her again, and I’ll break _both_ your arms!”  The doctor snarled before snapping at her sister.  “Dawn, let’s _go_!”

“Now, hold on there, darlin’!  Let’s not be so hasty!  I can explain!”

Marianne scoffed as she attempted to physically stuff her squirming sister into the car.

“Yeah, right.  I’ve heard _that_ one before.  You can take your explanation and _shove_ it, for all I care!”

“Look, Marianne, I’m _sorry_ fer all the deception, but I _had_ to have Trey call ya under an assumed name fer me, or else ya wouldn’t have come!”

Another angry remark dissolved into a groan of frustration from Marianne as Dawn managed to wrench herself free and sprint away to the porch steps. 

“Dawn!”  Marianne shouted.  “Come _back_ here!”

She made a move to follow her, but Roland blocked her way.

“Listen to me, sweetheart!”  He pleaded in a still emphatic, but quieter voice so Dawn wouldn’t hear.  “I _swear_ this isn’t a trick!  I really _do_ have a bona fide ghost fer ya!”

Marianne’s glare could’ve melted steel as she repeatedly tried to slip by him, only to have him continue to step in front of her.

“You are so _full_ of it!  Get outta my way!”

“He’s telling the truth, Marianne!”  Trey spoke up, hurrying over with a manila folder in his hand.  “See for yourself!”

“Save it!  There is no way in _hell_ I’m helping _either_ of you!  As far as I’m concerned, your ghost is _your_ problem!  I want _nothing_ to do with it!”

Finally, she shoved past Roland and marched in Dawn’s direction, but she hadn’t even reached the back right corner of the station wagon’s bumper when she heard:

“Not even the $500,000?”

Marianne stopped in her tracks. 

A gust of wind blew a handful of dry leaves past her boot-clad ankles.

 _Don’t turn around.  Don’t turn around.  That’s exactly what he wants.  It’s not worth it.  So just keep walking.  Keep walking, and for the love of God, do_ not _turn around!_

She turned around.

_Fuck, fuck, fuckity-FUCK!!!_

Roland’s face was doing a marvelous impression of a concerned human being, as he took the folder from Trey and made an ‘after you’ gesture to her down the driveway _._

“Come on, Marianne.  Just hear me out fer five minutes, okay?”

Against every screaming voice in her head, Marianne took a long, deep breath and released it in a harsh sigh.

“... _Fine_ , **five** minutes.  And this better be _legit_!” 

Casting one last look at Dawn, who was pretending to examine a moss-covered swan sculpture, Marianne stomped along the path back towards the woods, with a triumphant Roland on her tail. 

* * *

When they were a decent distance away, just at the edge of the tree line, Marianne spun around and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

“Start talking.”

Her ex handed her the folder.

“I’ll let _this_ speak fer me first.” 

Rolling her eyes, Marianne opened the damn folder and flipped through its contents, but gradually slowed down as she began to notice the sheer _number_ of eye-witness accounts.  Various service receipts were stapled to some of the papers, proving that these were genuine business transactions, and not some elaborate hoax. 

He truly _did_ have a ghost.  A real nasty one, judging from the graphic photographs included that depicted the aftermath of several people’s... _encounters_ with the vengeful spirit.  She'd never seen _anything_ like _this_ before.  

“Jesus...”     

“Yer tellin’ me.  So, exactly what time frame are ya lookin’ at?”

“Excuse me?”

“Please tell me ya just go in the house, spray, an' that’s it?”

“Hang on!  I haven’t agreed to _anything_ yet!  And even if I _had_ , as with a traditional psychological cure, it can take weeks or even _years_ for-”

“Whoa there!  Ya didn’t just say the word ‘years’, did ya?”

“It’s conceivable if-”

“ _No_ , it isn’t.  _Days_ is conceivable.  Weeks, _maybe_.  Months?  _No_.  Years?  _Forget_ it!”

“Fine!”  Marianne huffed, shoving the folder at him and turning on her heel.  “I never said I’d work for you anyway, so you can do whatever the heck you want!”

Roland jogged ahead to once again, preventing her from leaving.

“Now just a second, Marianne!  This is excellent, sea-front property!  I really wanna do some work on this place so I can sell it an' make a nice profit, but I _can’t_ with that ghost runnin’ around.  I _need_ ya get rid of it!  I apologize fer bein’ so impatient, but I simply don’t have the time nor the patience to wait fer some dead asshole to do what he should’ve done when he first kicked the bucket.  I want him outta my house _pronto_ , an' if _anyone’s_ capable o' doin’ that in a timely fashion, it’s _you_!  I mean, ya got rid o'  _me_!”

“Not well enough.”  Marianne muttered before sneering at the man.  “Roland, give me one good reason why, after _everything_ you did, _I_ should even _consider_ helping _you_!”

“Because it’s the best way to help _you_ an' Dawn.”

His easy answer stumped Marianne, and for a beat, all she could do was stare at him.

“...And how is _that_ exactly?”

Roland tucked the folder under his arm, and drew himself up to his full height.  He grasped the lapels of his suit coat, squared his shoulders, and puffed out his chest, while adopting a façade that was both serious and somehow detached. 

His business mode.

“Marianne, I was fully prepared to offer ya a whole lot more than a measly five-hundred grand to come here, but ya jumped at that price like a starvin’ cat on a mouse.  Ya know what that tells me?”

“...”

“It tells me that yer in _desperate_ need o' money.  But how could that be?  When yer one half the beneficiaries o' probably the greatest family fortune in the country.  Don’t tell me ya blew through yer inheritance already?  I coulda sworn ya were smarter than _that_ , buttercup.”

The assumption, _and_ the nickname, had Marianne’s blood boiling over in a heartbeat.  So, without thinking, she blurted the truth.

“No!  It’s in a trust- ...f-fund.”

“A trust fund?”

“...... _Yes_.  It was set up so that...Dawn and I can only access it every......every five years.”

“Ah, an' travelin’ all over the U.S. as much as ya have recently, has eaten up most of yer funds, an' ya _still_ have another three years to go before ya can get more.”

 Marianne glared at him, but her silence was confirmation enough.

“Well, darlin’, here I am!  The answer to yer prayers!  Take care o' that ghost as fast as possible fer me, an' the $500,000 is yers!  It ain’t much but, it’ll certainly tide ya over fer three years, as long as yer careful!”

It’d be a lie to say that Marianne wasn’t oh-so-very tempted.  The money was practically dangling within her reach, like a juicy steak in a dog cartoon, but she resisted nonetheless.

She knew Roland.  He never did anyone any favors without hiding something devious up his sleeves.  Her suspicion outweighed the risk. 

“No, I don’t trust you.”  Marianne stated with a resolute shake of her brunette head.  “It’s not worth it.”    

“Oh, Marianne!”  Roland protested, as she walked around him in the direction of the mansion again.  “Are ya really gonna pass up this golden opportunity fer the sake o' yer lousy pride?”

She didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

“Have it yer way then!  I thought you’d at _least_ be willin’ to soldier through it fer yer sister, but I guess I was _wrong_.”

Marianne’s pace slowed to a halt at his comment.  He was manipulating her, and she knew it, but the memory of her promise to Dawn, had her mind frantically reeling all over again. 

“Must be hard fer a girl her age to be movin’ around so much.”  Roland went on, pleased as pie that he’d given her another pause.  “An' she’s gonna be a _senior_ this year, too!  My, my!”

The doctor was at a loss for words.  Her brain struggled to make excuses, but Roland beat her to the punch on every consideration. 

“I’ll venture a guess an' say that ya don’t have enough to take ya both back Santa Fe, do ya?  Maybe ya _could_ stay in Friendship fer a while, but how are ya gonna pay fer those expensive hotel bills?  Or an apartment?  Fer _three_ years?  What would ya do fer a livin’ in the meantime?  It doesn’t look like yer ghost therapy pays well normally, an' ya didn’t establish yerself as a regular psychiatrist firmly enough beforehand to open yer own practice.  Most people have seen ya on TV by now, thanks to Hard Copy, an' they think yer completely _crazy_.  Who would hire ya to even flip burgers?”

It made Marianne want to vomit, but he was right.  He was right on all counts, and the fact nearly had her _seething_.  Perhaps it was childish, but she stubbornly refused to relent. 

She couldn’t give in.  Not to _him_! 

They’d find a way.  They _had_ to!  She didn’t know how, but she’d figure something out eventually.  They didn’t need Roland, or his house, or his $500,000.  It was a trap.

_Go!  Get out of here, before he-!_

“I also know you’ve been searchin’ fer yer parents.”

Marianne couldn’t prevent the soft gasp of shock, and she faced Roland with a stricken expression. 

“How do you know about that?”

“I _didn’t_.”  Roland half-grinned.  “It was a hunch, an' ya just verified it.”

God, from the depths of her soul, she _despised_ this man.

“It’s not like it was a huge leap in logic.  Yer parents suddenly die horribly, an' ya just _happen_ to throw yerself into ghost huntin’.  The reason was pretty obvious.”

“What’s your _point_?”   

“Nothin’......I just thought ya might like to know that this house may be the best place to find them.”

“Why?”

“Because they have history with it.”

Marianne’s chest burst with anxiety at this news.  Of course, there was nothing set in stone when it came to the paranormal, but most so-called ‘experts’ claimed that there was a higher possibility of a spiritual presence being tied to a personal item.

 _Especially_ if it was a home; a hub of familiar living energy they could feed off of. 

Regardless, her inhibitions vanished at the _hint_ of achieving her ultimate goal.  She steadily approached Roland, foolishly thirsty for more information.

“They bought it fer us as a weddin’ present.”  Roland said, fishing the folded deed and the bill of sale from his pocket, and handing it over for her perusal.  “Didn’t get a chance to fix it up or get rid of it before the accident, so they left it to me.  And that’s not all!”

He pulled a second document out of his other pocket for her to read.

“Trey did some diggin’ an' discovered that yer _grandmother_ used to work fer the original family that built the manor; she even lived with them fer a while.”

Marianne’s eyes devoured the record, and sure enough, there it was, plain as day.  Her maternal grandmother: Aura Plum with King Fish co. 1939-1942. 

She could hardly believe it! 

Darkstaff.

This manor...this _castle_ with its stained glass windows, lofty towers, and wave-like carvings...was linked to her family... _and_ was supposed to be _hers_?

Aside from Roland, it was a fairy-tale come true!

Speaking of Roland, _he_ was chewing his tongue to keep from doing a happy dance at Marianne’s enthrallment. 

He had her now.  Hook, line, and sinker.  Just a pinch more sugar to sweeten the pot... 

“I’ll cut ya a deal, Marianne.  If ya can make the ghost leave _and_ find yer parents before, oh let’s say midnight on Halloween, then I’ll pay ya the $500,000, _and_...” he glanced thoughtfully at the mansion, “...I’ll even _give_ ya the house with some extra fer renovations.  

Marianne’s head whipped up and she gaped at Roland, barely managing to comprehend what he’d just told her.  However, the last shred of her rationale was shrieking at her to not let her guard down. 

Not that it would’ve made much difference now.  There was no way she could let this chance go.  It was too perfect. 

Her ex smiled knowingly at her, and she inwardly grimaced.

 “...And what happens if I _fail_ to meet these conditions?”

Roland leaned in closer and his smug smile morphed into a dark smirk that showed his true colors: sinister and arrogant. 

“Then our weddin’ is back on.”

Marianne recoiled as if she’d been slapped.

_I KNEW IT!  I KNEW IT!!!_

Like a slimy spider, he’d spun his glittering web and trapped her like a stupid fly.

“Why you _miserable_ , son of a-!”

“Ah, quit yer belly-achin’, Marianne!  Surely, it won’t be as bad as all _that_?  People have gotten hitched fer worse reasons.  It’ll keep _you_ an' yer sister off the streets, an' that’s all that matters!  Hell, in three years, when yer trust fund opens again, ya can file fer divorce, if ya must.  Unless by then, ya change yer mind...”

_Or unless I get Trey to work his magic an' bleed ya fer every penny ya got, **buttercup**.  He may be a dumbass everywhere else, but in the courtroom, he’s a wizard! _

“Over my dead body, you bastard!”

“Whatever ya say, darlin’.  I hope ya have as much confidence in yer abilities.”  Roland shrugged, but he held out his hand.  “Do we have a deal or not?”

Marianne’s rage was gushing inside of her like an erupting volcano.  She wanted to rip chunks of Roland’s hair out until he was as bald as a mole rat, then run over him about fifty _million_ times with her car.  No, a _tank_! 

How?

How had she _ever_ , EVER been in love with this deceitful, selfish, conniving, _beast_?

Other than his skin-deep beauty, she had no idea.  Nevertheless, as much as it _infuriated_ the fighter in her heart, she knew when she was licked.  There was no choice.  For Dawn’s sake, she would have to gamble her freedom, and only hope that this final shot would be the one that counted.     

“Deal.”  She growled, but made sure to smack his hand away as she whirled around and trudged back up the hill to Darkstaff, where her sister and, ostensibly, her ‘patient’, were waiting.  


	6. Chapter 6

While her sister spoke to Roland, Dawn took the opportunity to inspect the outside of the mansion and the immediate grounds.  As socially bereft as she felt, she didn’t get the sense that chatting with Trey would satiate her need for human companionship.  Especially when the guy kept anxiously huddling around his car, and gaping at Darkstaff like something was going to jump out at him. 

 _Geez, a couple of creaks and drafts, and people are so quick to cry ghost._ Dawn thought with a snort as she gazed up at a few of the smudged and shadowy upper story windows.  _It’s just a house.  A great, big...dark......empty.........house..._

Suddenly feeling a bit unsettled without Marianne nearby, Dawn opted to explore the area at a greater distance.  She stepped a few yards away from the cracked and paint chipped exterior wall, and found a foot path hidden in the almost knee-high grass leading around to the back of the manor. 

As she curiously walked along the trail, Dawn looked all around her.  It really was _kind_ of beautiful here, in its own weird way.  The point was secluded by the dense forest, swathed in autumn’s fiery colors, and the mansion was situated perfectly at the crest of the hill.  She bet she could see all the way to the town from upstairs.   

Behind the house, covered in dead leaves and weeds, there was a crumbling gazebo and a large, forgotten lanai that was once probably used for many evening parties in the summer, but what had the bulk of Dawn’s attention was the breath-taking view. 

Almost as if in a trance, she crossed the remainder of the overgrown lawn, but made sure to stop at a safe distance from the treacherous cliff.  She doubted Marianne would allow her to set _foot_ outdoors with an unfenced drop-off so close by, so she had to get a good look now or never. 

Goodness, not even their lovely home in Albany had such a picturesque setting!  The oxford blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean stretched out as far as her eyes could see.  A handful of sailboats dotted the left side of the horizon.  In the opposite direction, at the far end of the curved coast, she could just make out an adorable lighthouse.  Sparse clouds partially obscured the setting sun, casting brilliant golden rays across the late twilight sky of blazing orange and violet.  The sea air was so fresh and clear, Dawn wanted to melt as she inhaled it all deep into her lungs.  Her flowery skirt fluttered in the breeze. 

She felt like a heroine in a 19th-century romance novel, and she had a feeling, a strange feeling, that something big, and exciting was going to happen soon.  Maybe this last ‘job’ would be a little more fun than the others.  Maybe she’d meet someone super sweet and special tomorrow at school.  Maybe they could stay in Friendship permanently afterwards.   

 _Yeah, just as soon as Marianne finishes with this ghost stuff.  Then we can be happy again._  

* * *

By the time Marianne came plodding up the drive with Roland in tow, it had gotten much darker.  Dawn was concerned by her sister’s sullen frown, but her inquires were each shut down with a standard ‘everything’s fine’ or ‘don’t worry about it’. 

Apparently, they _were_ going to stay, since after they’d unloaded their bags from the station wagon, Roland tossed the keys to Marianne _and_ blew her a kiss, to which she flipped him off and stomped up the porch steps, muttering some _quite_ unladylike phrases. 

“Have a lovely night!”  Trey waved, though he sounded somewhat sarcastic, and with that, both he and Roland dove into their respective vehicles and peeled away. 

Dawn watched their crimson taillights vanish into the trees, and the sense of isolation grew with the shadows of the creeping dusk.  She flinched when Marianne called her to follow. 

If the girls thought Darkstaff was impressive on the surface, it was nothing compared to the inside.  Even with all the cobwebs and dust, its unique architectural beauty could not be concealed.  With its antique furniture, burgundy walls, and faded gold accents, it permeated an aura of royalty and pride.  Yet, with its multicolored stained glass, and the sweeping, spiraling patterns in the floor and wood work, there too was a hint of whimsy and imagination. 

It was as if the Addams Family and Willy Wonka were the designers. 

Dawn and Marianne were both so awestruck as they entered the enormous atrium, they couldn’t say a single word.  They just craned their necks and gaped at the vaulted ceiling, the gigantic chandelier, and the second and third floor galleries peeking over the two separate staircases on opposite ends of the space.  And this was just a _taste_ of the mansion’s true size!

Overwhelmed, their bags dropped in sync, and Dawn drew out a spellbound: “ _Wow_.”

It really _was_ a castle.

...

But if they didn’t find the fuse box soon, it’d be blacker than a tomb in here.  Where was the basement? 

In the meantime, both of them were unaware of a young, pale face peering at them from far overhead.     

“It’s _her_!”  Sunny gushed raising his head from the floorboards of the bedroom directly above the atrium.  “She’s _here_!  She’s in my house!  I did it!”

His excitement was palpable, but the same went for the fear that his plan would fail just like hundreds of times before.

“What if she likes me?  ...What if she _doesn’t_?”

The latter seemed much more likely, given his track record.  But she was a teenager, and new in town, so surely she’d be more receptive than the others? 

Still, perhaps he should practice...

“Hi, I’m Sunny!”  He tried in his friendliest voice.  “I’m a...ghost?  No, that’s a total disaster...uh...”

_More confidence!  Yeah, that’s it!  And get with the times!_

Mussing his hair, or at least the vapor that _resembled_ his hair, down over one eye, he started over.

"Yo, I’m Sunny!  ‘Sup?  Gimme five!” 

.

.

.

He took one look at himself in the vanity mirror, and slapped his forehead in embarrassment.  

“Oh, _God_...”

_I’m doomed._

His bleak thoughts were dispersed at the sudden illumination around him. 

It was the electricity switching on.  A few groaning crackles and pops, and the ancient wires were full of whirring life.  Darkstaff was ablaze with artificial light once more after who knew how many years.

The sisters had found the basement off a cozy, rustic kitchen located to the left of the front door.  For now, the old fuses would hold, but a box of 20 amps and the groceries were on the list of things to purchase in the morning. 

“I’m gonna go find a room.”  Dawn announced, once they made it back to the now brightly lit atrium.  

Marianne glanced up at her as she gathered her belongings.  

“You gonna be alright alone?”

Chuckling, Dawn began to climb the steps.

“Hey, if I’m not back in ten days, send a search party.”  

Darkstaff had so many details to behold, and Dawn gazed around in every direction.  The fish-head newel post, the thick Persian carpets, the grandfather clock, and the hook-shaped flying buttresses, marble pillars, and even full suits of armor in the long corridors.  And there were so many doors, Dawn didn’t know which to choose first.

_Eeny...meany...miney...mo!_

Her choice led to a spacious, but rather dismal-looking master suite.  Only moonbeams and a fall chill drifted through the sheer curtains framing the open window, but what caught Dawn’s eye was the bed. 

Like everything else, it was dusty, but there were letters professionally etched into the headboard.  A name!

She clicked on the light switch to read it.

“... _Bog_?” 

What in the world?

_Man this guy must’ve had cruel parents.  And what is this, Snow White and the Seven Dwarves?  Who the heck writes their name on their bed?_

Whatever, this was definitely _not_ the room for her.  _Way_ too serious and...gray.  Marianne could have it with thanks, so she shut off the light and moved on.    

For some reason, she’d didn’t check anymore rooms until she reached the end of the hall.  This time when she tried the door, a surprisingly cute corner bedchamber was there to greet her.  It had an ocean-view balcony, a private bathroom, a lamp with a bronze cat for a base, a vanity, some nature paintings, a wrought-iron bedframe, and the white ceiling had been constructed in such a way that the light fixture seemed to be nestled in a sheet of silk. 

How creative and perfect for her.

“Marianne!”  She shouted, tossing her bags to the floor.  “I found my room!"

She plopped down onto the mattress to test it, and was pleased to note that it was comfortable enough, though she’d definitely have to change the musty sheets. 

Unbeknownst to her, Sunny was eagerly watching from the open doorway.  He clutched his chest and whispered to himself in disbelief:  

“There’s a girl......on my bed.”  A boyish, ear to ear grin spread his lips.  “This is the _best_ day _ever_!”

The thumping sound of Dr. Springfield coming made him quickly vanish into the nearest wall. 

“In here!”  Dawn instructed, rolling her eyes endearingly at the sight of her sister clumsily lugging her sleeping bag and two huge, cardboard boxes labeled ‘Dawn’s stuff’ on her shoulders so she could hardly see where she was going.  She rushed to help her.

“It’s very _scary_.”  Marianne suggestively winked as she ducked into Dawn’s chosen base of teenage operations.  “Seen any surprises?”

“Please, this is the _deadest_ place yet.”

She might be acting bratty, but Dawn didn’t want to give her sister the satisfaction of thinking that this situation was all hunky-dory, just because they had...interesting lodgings.  

“Ooo, this is a nice room.”  Marianne commented, undeterred by Dawn’s attitude.    

“Yeah, right.  This house is a freak’s holiday.”  Her baby sister replied, tossing the box she’d taken into the closet and not seeing it land on Sunny’s head. 

Continuing to ignore the sass, Marianne opened the box she’d set on the bed, but paused when she saw the faces of her parents smiling up at her.  Her unprepared heart thrummed painfully, and she couldn’t even bring herself to touch the frame.

“Oh,” Dawn coughed awkwardly and scooped up the picture, “mom and dad belong over here.”

She hurried around the bed and set them on the side table.  There, she could always see them before she fell asleep, and after she woke up in the morning.

Marianne scratched the back of her neck and scrambled to ease the suddenly forlorn atmosphere.    

“So...how about if I help you unpack?”

“Why bother?  We’ll just be repacking in two weeks anyway, right?”

Dawn blushed as her sister at last shot her an impatient look; one she’d never tell her she’d gotten from their mother.  She knew it was unfair to imply that Marianne wouldn’t keep her promise.

_That’s enough.  She’s trying, okay?  Give her a break._

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”  Dawn soothed.  “This place is...fine.”

The irritation on Marianne’s face melted away to mild relief, and she smirked resolutely. 

“Good.  Well...night, Butterfly.” 

“Night, Marianne.”

The sisters hugged tightly, and Marianne headed for the door. 

“You’re gonna be glad we came.”  She added finally.  “You’ll see.”

Dawn nodded in a ‘Yeah-I-seriously-doubt-it-but-okay’ manner, and her sister left her to her own devices.

Deciding she was too tired to unpack, Dawn unrolled her sleeping bag and hopped onto the bed to relax for a few minutes, but the pillow was so lumpy, that she gave up on the idea after giving it a few punches. 

Sighing, she stood up and grabbed one of her clothes bags and sat cross-legged on the carpet so she could empty the contents and sort. 

As it turns out, her lumpy pillow, hadn’t been a pillow at all.  It was Sunny in disguise, and he was hesitantly approaching her, nervous and unsure of what to say.

“Uh...I...no...”

Not hearing him, Dawn sniffed a sock that had been crammed into one of her shoes to see if it needed to be washed.

_Come on, Sunny!  Just do it!_

“I-!”

His salutation was cut off by Dawn tossing the dirty sock over her shoulder; straight into his mouth.  He was so startled, he didn’t even hesitate to spit it out...

...directly at the back of Dawn’s head.

He froze as the girl stiffened at the contact, and carefully rose.  Slowly, she turned and Sunny found himself staring into the widest and prettiest crystal blue eyes he’d ever seen. 

_Holy cow!  She’s even more gorgeous in person!  What do I do?  What do I DO?!  Say something!  Anything!!!_

“Ah...heh, heh......um...hi?”

...

*thud*

Thankfully, she didn’t flee in shrieking horror.  She just fainted, instead.

“Oh, _man_!”  Sunny groaned before dashing into the bathroom.  “Perfect first impression!  I’m such a jerk!”

Slapping the sink handle on in frustration, the tapped the faucet to clear the stream of rust, and cupped his hands.  Zipping back into the room, he gently dribbled the water onto Dawn’s face. 

She grimaced and blinked awake.

“Better?”  Sunny asked, leaning in close.

Dawn’s response was a terrified and deafening scream.

Scared, Sunny reared back with a scream of his own, but when he heard Dr. Springfield yell her sister’s name in alarm, he swiftly disappeared. 

“Dawn?!”  Marianne cried, barreling into the room.  “Dawn, what _is_ it?!” 

“Marianne!”  Dawn gasped, launching herself into her frazzled sister’s arms.  “Marianne, I saw a _ghost_!  It was a _real_ ghost!  A real, live _ghost_!”

“Whoa, slow down.  _What_ are you saying?”

“I _saw_ a ghost!  It had a head, and it was round, and see-through, and-!”

“Dawn, wait.”  Marianne interrupted, wanting all rational explanations explored.  “Now, maybe-”

“Marianne, _please_.”  Dawn glared.  “Do _not_ think I’m as crazy as I thought _you_ were.  I promise!”

“No, no, no.  I believe you, but remember, ghosts can’t hurt you, okay?  They’re simply spirits with unfinished business.”

“But I-!”

“Let’s just _see_ about this ghost.”  Marianne went on, tugging Dawn with her.  “Come here, come on.”

Dawn huffed as her sister poked her head into the bathroom...

“Check here...  Oop, see?  No ghost there.”

...then under the bed...

“Now we can check over here...  Nope.  No, there’s no ghost in there.”

...and on to the closet.

“We can even check here...”

Annoyed, Dawn planted her hands on her hips.  Just because her sister had yet to see a real ghost didn’t mean she needed to be so patronizing! 

But her vexation was forgotten when Marianne opened the door to reveal the ghost she’d seen earlier.  Her sister saw it too, but must not have registered it right away.

“There, see?”  She said as if the closet was vacant, but almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, her skin drained of color and she looked back. 

Sunny held out his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, doctor!”

Marianne shook from head to toe, and with a scream so loud it made Dawn jump, she slammed the door. 

Before she even knew what was happening, Dawn was seized around the waist and hauled over her sister’s shoulder as she sprinted from the room.

“Marianne, put me down!” 

Her demand went unheeded, as Marianne raced through the corridors constantly looking behind her to see if they were being chased.

“This is insane!  What are you _doing_?!”

Again, no answer.  In fact, Marianne seemed to be having trouble remembering which way to the staircase. 

“I _can_ walk, you know!”

She couldn’t understand why her sister was reacting like this.  I mean, sure, it was an actual ghost, and that was freaky and all, but it didn’t seem to want to harm them.  And wasn’t her sister supposed to be its therapist?  What kind of therapist ran from their patient?

Marianne yanked a random door open and threw them both inside, plunging them into a pool of darkness.

“Oh my God, this is BIG!”  Marianne wheezed to herself, equal parts shocked and frightened at her discovery. 

“Um, Marianne?”

“What?”

“We’re in a _closet_.”

Reaching around in the void, Marianne grasped the pull-chain on the hanging bulb and gave them some much needed light.

“Now what?”

“Erm...”

“Aren’t you gonna go and, I don’t know, _talk_ to it?”

“I-I, uh...”   

“You’re the ‘ghost doctor’!  Don’t you know what to _do_?!”

“...Right.”  Her sister gulped.  “Right, of course!  But...I want you to _stay_ put, no matter what you hear, got it?”

“Okay...”

Stealthily, Marianne slipped out into the hall. 

“Wait!”  Dawn hissed before she could close the door on her.

“What?”

“...Marianne, I’m sorry.” 

“For what?”

“For not believing you...and thinking you were a total loser.”

“Aw, Butterfly...”

Touched, Marianne patted Dawn’s arm.  It was so great to have her sister on her side again, but she had more important matters to address at the moment.  No time to get all mushy.

“-apologize _later_.”

The door swung shut with a click, and Dawn was by herself. 

* * *

Meanwhile, in her room, Sunny was banging his head against the bedpost. 

He should’ve known this was a bad idea.  They were afraid of him, just like everyone else.  They’d leave and he'd be alone forever.  Why did he think things would be different?  Why did he allow himself to even _hope_ for a better chance?  

“Blew it, blew it, blew it, blew it, blew-!”

His personal diatribe was stopped by a harsh wind blowing open the balcony door, and a distant heinous cackle from outside.  Instant dread flooded Sunny’s incorporeal form, and had he been alive, his blood would’ve gone ice cold.

“Oh, no.  It's _him_!”


	7. Chapter 7

Over the tops of the thick, twisted trees surrounding Darkstaff manor, a bluish white cyclone was soaring through the air at breakneck speed.  It tore leaves from their twigs in its haste and sent any prowling nocturnal critters scampering for the safety of their dens.  Even _they_ knew of the terrible being fast-approaching the decrepit mansion on the hill, and dreaded to cross his path.    

Bog was a wily spirit, who would initially treat everything as a joke to deal with the bitterness and anger shrouding his heart in this purgatory.  His temper was fierce, and his humor cruel.  When there were no living people nor creatures to torment, Sunny was his target, but even that would bore him from time to time, so he would randomly leave for a handful of days to wreak havoc elsewhere for his own entertainment. 

But alas, he could not stay away for long.  So, now that he’d had his fill of amusement, the king had to return to his castle, though he was still smugly congratulating himself for the chaos he’d recently unleashed upon the NYRA when he came to a stop on the front porch.

“Man, those ponies sure run fast when _I_ go down to Belmont.”  He gloated, and even reenacted one of his pranks.  “Here, Flicka.  BLAAAAAAH!”

As he snickered at the refreshed memory of his joke, Sunny phased through the front door to greet him.   

“Hey, Uncle Bog!”  He waved with an anxious smile.  “Did ya have fun?”

At the sight of his annoyingly cheerful ‘nephew’, Bog bared his teeth in a sneer.

“Aw, look who it is.  It’s _Sunny_.  Well, on a scale o’ ten bein’ fun, an’ one bein’ _you_ , yeah.  I had fun.”

He then advanced on Sunny like a predator, sneer morphing into a warning scowl. 

“Now why aren’t ye inside doin’ yer _chores_?  Where’s dinner?  Look at me, I’m wastin’ away!”

To humorously emphasis the point, he chortled and twisted his thin form like a wet rag.

“I-I know!”  Sunny stammered.  “How about you relax out here, and...t-tonight we’ll eat al fresco?”

It was a pitiful stall attempt, and Sunny knew it.  If his uncle wanted in, he was getting in, and there was nothing Sunny could do to hide Dawn and her sister from him. 

“Say short-sheet,” Bog snarled, obviously sensing that the smaller ghost was up to something, “ye wouldn’t be tryin’ to keep me outta the _house_ , would ye?”

“No!  N-no...”

“I can see right through that bulbous little head o’ yers!” 

His uncle proved this by stabbing his vaporous hand straight into Sunny’s forehead, far enough to poke out the back and rake his long, spindly fingers in his ‘hair’.  Had they been flesh and blood, it would’ve been a gruesome scene, but as a couple of disembodied souls, it was simply cartoonish.   

“I-It’s just such a lovely night,” Sunny continue to lie, “I thought we’d enjoy eating under the harvest moon?”

He should’ve kept his mouth shut, for Bog had run out of patience and, at the potential song reference, he grabbed Sunny and stretched him out several times, like an accordion, while he belted:

 _Shine on~_  
_Shine on harvest moon~_  
_Up in the SKY!_

On the last word, he pulled his nephew taunt like a rubber band, and shot him directly at the glowing, full moon hanging in the clear sky above.   

“Bye-bye!”  He taunted, and went on into the mansion.

_Dumb runt.  Thinkin’ he can keep me outta my own house!  When he comes down, I’ll-!_

His thoughts were interrupted by a strange scent filling his nostrils.  Not unpleasant, just unfamiliar.  Like jasmine and freshly baked cinnamon cookies. 

 _What_ is _that?_

The question was answered by an unknown female voice calling from deeper in the mansion.

“Hello?”

The faint sound brought a deviously eager smirk to Bog’s lips.  There was someone else here.  Looks like his _fun_ wasn’t over yet.     

* * *

Slowly and carefully as she could manage, Marianne crept down the curved hall leading to Dawn’s bedroom.  She trembled at every creak in the floorboards, and her shoulders ached with tension, expecting one of the suits of armor to lunge at her or to find something crouching behind each pillar she snuck past. 

Peeking around the corner, she saw the open doorway of the room come into view, and her stomach quaked when she realized that the lights were off inside.  She didn’t know if it was just a bad bulb or...something else, but she fished her keychain flashlight from her pocket and clicked it on.   

“...H-hello?”

Silence.

She truly hated how timid she sounded, but she couldn’t help it.  Sure, she’d been chasing leads on these things across the country, but to actually find a full-body, intelligent spirit so suddenly was...startling to say the least. 

On the one hand, she was overjoyed that her belief was indeed correct, which implied that she was one huge step closer to contacting her parents.  But on the other, an actual, physical ghost that was also a stranger, was drudging up every scary campfire story and haunted house movie she’d ever heard and seen as a child.  And her twenty-seven year old imagination wasn’t helping at _all_.    

_Get a grip, would ya?  You’re a psychiatrist for Christ’s sake!  This is your job!  What happened to all that ‘ghosts can’t hurt you’ stuff?_

Oh, who was she kidding?  If it had a humanoid form, then what reason did she have to think that it couldn’t, or _wouldn’t_ , harm her?

Absolutely none; but she couldn’t just quit.  She had a real chance now, and the stakes were too high. 

Swallowing the desert in her throat, she inched her way nearer to the shadowy bedroom.

“Hello?  N-no need to be afraid!” 

 _There’s an idea, don’t be afraid._ She told herself, despite her sweating palms.  This would be much easier without any surprises.     

“I’d like to make...c-contact with you, but one thing please: eh, don’t pop out from under a rug or through a keyhole!  No spooking!  Let’s get beyond that.”

She was finally just outside Dawn’s bedroom.  From the angle, she could only see the edge of the dusty bedframe and the vanity beyond.  Nothing and no _one_ else.   

“I would like to approach you, so now I’m entering the room.” 

Stepping over the threshold, she shined her tiny flashlight along the walls. 

“I am in...the room,” she gulped, “c-can you deal with that?”

“Can _you_?” 

Heart seizing at the gravely reply, Marianne spun around and was met with a roaring demonic face.  It was gaunt and deathly pale, with flaming red eyes, and a row of crooked, yellow fangs in its gaping mouth.

When startled at close proximity, as she most _definitely_ was then, Marianne tended to select fight over flight, and instinctively, her right hook flew at the poltergeist’s jaw, but to her horror, instead of connecting, its whole head swirled like disturbed, icy fog in the wind around her fist, which she instantly drew back in shock.  The sinister face returned and leered at her like an evil goblin. 

Too scared out of her mind to even utter a yelp, Marianne’s vision clouded and her knees buckled.  Limp as a ragdoll, she collapsed to the floor.   

Bog cackled in triumph and peered down at his latest victim.  Not that it mattered, but she was quite pretty; like a tiny princess.  He hated princesses.

He couldn’t venture a guess as to why she was wanting to ‘make contact’.  Was she another self-proclaimed psychic?  Save for the dark, purple makeup and extra ear-piercings, she didn’t look like the type.  She was wearing a long and fancy, raspberry-colored blouse over a pair of black leggings and brown, lace-up boots.        

“Marianne?!  Marianne!”

He flinched from his inspection at the muffled yell of _another_ female from somewhere down the corridor.  This one sounded much younger, perhaps around Sunny’s ‘age’. 

_Hmph, I’ll take care o' her later.  I’m no' finished yet._

And he dashed off to hide in wait.

He’d only been gone a few seconds before Marianne began to stir.  As soon as she came to her senses, and was sure that she was alone, she leapt to her feet and hurried into the bathroom to splash some cold water on her cheeks. 

Bending over the sink, she struggled to get her bearings and calm her racing pulse.  _Clearly_ , she had a lot to learn about ghosts than she thought, and she felt like a fool for not preparing herself for all possibilities.  After all, the majority of claims regarding the supernatural stated that it was _frightening_!   

But how was she supposed to handle this?  That... _thing_ didn’t seem to be remotely interested in a psychological evaluation.  And she certainly did _not_ relish the idea of being constantly terrified for the next two months, or even the rest of the night. 

_Just gotta get back in the ring.  Show it that I mean business._

Taking the hand towel from the rack, she dried her face and rose to her full height, but when she lowered the cloth, it wasn’t her reflection staring at her in the mirror.  It was the brown, rotting face of the Crypt Keeper. 

Rearing back, she clutched blindly at the shower curtain, ripping it from its hooks.  The handle turned on its own, and boiling hot water sprayed into the tub. 

Crying out in fear, Marianne stumbled against the door of the linen closet, and impossibly, the wooden surface expanded like rubber at her, and a lion’s snarl came from behind it. 

Marianne was so panicked, she didn’t know what else to do other than run for it.  So she darted out of the bathroom and took off in a full sprint through the hallway.  However, she’d barely made fifty yards before she saw something coming at her.

There was a creepy lump under the carpet runner up ahead, and it was swiftly moving in her direction, as well as making loud train engine noises. 

Backing away, Marianne didn’t see the vacuum cleaner on the second floor landing until was too late.  She fell over it and rolled down the winding stairs.       

“Where ye goin’, _Tough Girl_?!”  The ghost cackled mockingly. 

Thankfully, the rug was plush enough so that when Marianne reached the bottom, she wasn’t injured, but she’d probably be dreadfully sore. 

Standing with a groan, she froze when she saw her paranormal tormentor floating on the other side of the atrium with an antique sword in its hand. 

When it dove at her, Marianne bolted into another bathroom, but her respite was brief, for the blade was thrust through the door, inches away from her neck.

She gasped in alarm, but the emotion quickly dissolved into anger.

_Okay, that’s IT.  Mamma’s had **enough**!    _

She snatched the only weapon available, and charged out the room, brandishing...

“YA!”

...a plunger.

The ghost snorted and cooed at her.

“Aw, the wee fairy wants to play!”

Marianne took her stance as her opponent seized an iron cane from an umbrella holder by the front door, and swung it at her. 

She parried the attack and jabbed, catching the spirit by its hooked nose in the suction cup.  Apparently stuck, she tugged hard on the handle, stretching the ghost’s face comically, until it popped free and he was sent flying across the space. 

Taking advantage of the distance, Marianne yanked the sword out of the bathroom door and readied herself for the next wave of furious blows.  As she dueled with her future patient, while slowly gaining the high ground by backing up the staircase, she mentally filed away a few details. 

There must be two ghosts, because this was certainly _not_ the one she saw in Dawn’s closet.  It appeared to be male, and...his eyes were a pleasing shade of cornflower blue now instead of harsh red.  He must’ve been deliberately altering his appearance to frighten her, because he didn’t look nearly as monstrous as before.  Combined with all the other things he’d done tonight, she had so many questions about what else he could do.  And if other spirits could do the same.

It was all so _fascinating_.

But that would all have to wait until _after_ she taught this jerk some manners!

As for Bog, he was getting more and more frustrated.  What was _with_ this dame?  One minute, she was fleeing for her life, and the next, she was Errol Flynn?  His game wasn’t going the way it usually did, and it was pissing him off.

“Who do ye think ye are invadin’ _my_ home, _huh_?!”  He demanded, putting more strength into his strikes.

Marianne deflected every swing as she answered:

*whack*

“Dr. Marianne!”

*clang*

“Springfield!”

*bang*

Growling, Bog brought his staff down horizontally, hoping to crush her, but she blocked him and shoved their arms up over their heads, bringing them face to face, and wafting that jasmine and cinnamon cookie aroma from earlier.

“Your _therapist_.”  She said with a sassy grin.

_What?!  Ye gotta be kiddin’ me!_

* * *

Upstairs, Dawn was frantically pounding on the locked closet door, shouting over and over for her sister.  She’d been incredibly worried by all the odd sounds she’d been hearing and wanted to see for herself that Marianne was safe. 

“Marianne!  Marianne!”

Sunny, who had just made it back to Darkstaff, followed her cries and fiddled with the lock, just as Dawn decided to ram the door with her shoulder.  As a result, she crashed into Sunny and landed cheek-to-cheek with him on the floor.

“Are you alright?”  He asked in pure concern.

Dawn, realizing it was the ghost again, jumped up with a scream and sped away.

“Marianne!”  She hollered as she rushed down the opposite stairs, but skid to a halt when she saw just what her sister was doing.

Having a sword fight with another ghost!  She couldn’t believe her eyes! 

“ _Marianne_?”

Both the doctor and spirit were too focused on their match to pay the teenager any attention, and without warning, Marianne managed to smack the cane from Bog’s hands. 

Grumbling to himself, Bog decided to pull out the big guns.  He didn’t like to use this trick often, but he’d be damned if he let himself be humiliated in his own house by one of the living! 

So in retaliation, Bog inhaled deep, and breathed out a green, foul-smelling gas right into Marianne’s face.

The eldest Springfield was stunned by the move, but bile churned in her guts when her olfactory senses registered the disgusting odor.  God, it was worse than roadkill and skunk spray combined!

Dropping to her knees to keep the nausea at bay, she noticed that her hand touched something metal.  As the ghost laughed maniacally at his assumed victory, Marianne looked up to see the vacuum cleaner.  Her brain hatched an idea.  It was a leap of faith, but better than nothing.

Scrambling upright, she whirled around and pointed the extension hose at the poltergeist. 

“Get back!”  She spat. 

Bog eyed her new defense with arrogant delight and chuckled darkly.

“Ha!  What the hell ye gonna do with _that_ thing?”

Quirking her brow (and praying it would work), Marianne flipped the switch and the machine revved to life.  It might’ve been old-fashioned, but the suction was as powerful as ever, for the ghost’s nose was immediately caught in its current.

“AH!  NOT THE NOSE!” 

Bog thrashed and fought with all his might, but it was no use, and with a howl of rage, he was dragged into the hose and trapped inside the vacuum bag. 

Enemy defeated, and feeling like a badass, if not a bit woozy from all the excitement, Marianne blew on the lip of the hose, like a hero on his pistol in a Western film. 

“Marianne!”  Dawn exclaimed, tearing up the steps and throwing herself into her sister’s arms.  “Are you okay?!”

Marianne wobbled a bit, but nodded. 

That sure was...... _wild_!  She hadn’t felt so alive in years!  But boy, did it drain her of her energy.  She could sleep for a millennia! 

“Yeah...yeah, I’m fine.  Why don’t we go, uh...regroup?”  She asked, leading her sister back down the stairs. 

Until they got things sorted out, they’d sleep together in the living room, and Bog was left to curse and flail in confusion inside his temporary prison, bellowing for Sunny to let him out. 

Over all, Sunny had to admit, though it didn’t go how he planned, it _was_ the most... _interesting_ evening Darkstaff had experienced in decades.  At least _she_ wasn’t leaving already, so maybe...

_I can try again.  Tomorrow’s another day._


	8. Chapter 8

Sunrise at Darkstaff was a vision of almost ethereal glory; a sharp contrast to its grim and foreboding nightly persona. 

The sky was bathed in brilliant gradients of orange and pink, reflecting diamond shimmers on the peacefully churning waves below.  Seagulls flew beneath the scattered, gossamer clouds, saluting the new day with their distinctive squawks, and the climbing sun gently cast its soothing warmth upon the quaint coastline, chasing away the cruel chill and oppressive darkness of the night.      

Had Dawn taken just one look out the living room's bay windows to witness Friendship, Maine’s version of her namesake, she might’ve pulled up a chair, and just enjoyed the heavenly view.  Unfortunately, her mind was still filled with images of real, live ghosts hiding in closets and attacking her sister. 

So, when her hunger grew too strong to ignore, she quietly got up off her makeshift couch-bed, dressed for school, and hunted through their piled of suitcases until she found Marianne’s handheld vacuum. 

Now somewhat armed by both the portable device _and_ the daylight, she felt a bit safer to venture out into the mansion again.  Leaving her sister to continue her sleep in the beat up recliner, Dawn tiptoed to the double doors, undid the lock, and snuck into the empty atrium. 

She looked ridiculous, holding the vacuum in front of her like a loaded gun, but she wasn’t taking any chances.  Not after what she’d seen. 

Save for the moan of the wind through the old rafters and her echoing footsteps across the floor, the house was silent.  Vaguely, Dawn was aware of a peculiar change in the atmosphere:

In the evening, Darkstaff had the standard haunted house vibe.  Huge, frightening, and full of shadows and...spirits.  But in the daytime, it was different.  Maybe it was the sun’s rays making the cobwebs, dust, and faded paint colors more pronounced.  Maybe it was the groaning of the house settling with the rising heat.  Or maybe it was because, as far as she could see, she was all alone, but there was a new feeling emanating from every last archway, carpet, pane of stained glass, and stick of furniture. 

Instead of scary, the manor seemed...sad and lonely; the tragedy of abandoned youth and beauty.

Too young to fully comprehend the depth of such misery, Dawn made her way through the atrium and the mini-vestibule leading to the kitchen.  If Roland hadn’t left any food for them, she’d have to have her sister make an emergency grocery run.

Creaking open the door, she paused when she saw that the table had been wiped down and neatly set for four since she’d last been in there.  There was even a dish of toast and a bowl of ripe fruit!

_Who in the world-?_

Suddenly, she was inches away from a pair of bright, chocolate brown eyes, and a pale, smiling face.  The ghost! 

“Morning!"  It greeted with a wave.

Startled, Dawn stepped back and inhaled to scream. 

“Oh no, no!”  Sunny begged, shifting his form to wrap around Dawn’s mouth like a gag.  “Please don’t scream!  I promise I won’t hurt you!”

Dawn blinked at him in shock, but made no move to struggle.

“Listen, my name is Sunny, and yes, I am a ghost.”  He whispered calmly.  “I admit it, but I’m a _friendly_ ghost!  You have to _trust_ me.  If you scream, you’ll wake up my uncle, and he gets awfully cranky.  I’m gonna let you go now, okay?”

Dawn nodded stiffly, and Sunny released her. 

“...You’re so cold.” She said, bringing a hand to the numb flesh of her cheek. 

He chuckled.

“Yeah, saves on the heating bill, if nothing else.” 

Darting away from her then, he pulled out a chair at the head of the table.

“Come on.”  He coaxed at her hesitation.  “It’s alright.”

Still wary, but undeniably curious, Dawn clutched the vacuum to her chest and steadily crept to the table, though she selected her _own_ seat on the left.  All the while, she stared at Sunny in awe, hardly believing that she was both seeing _and_ having a conversation with a spirit.

He seemed to be about her age, relatively speaking.  From the waist down, his body was like an upended raindrop.  No legs, just a featureless tail of some sort.  The transparent torso and chest were pretty non-distinct, as well, but there was a hint of athleticism in the shape of his build.  His head had the most details.  He had cute dimples sprinkled with spots that must’ve been freckles.  A soul patch decorated his chin and his thick hair danced smoothly as if it was underwater.   

“I can see right _through_ you!”

“Kinda happens when you don’t have any skin.”  Sunny shrugged.

As Dawn set the vacuum down, she became aware that he appeared to be just as fascinated by her as she was of him, for he hovered over the table and studied her with a small, but obviously gleeful grin.  It made something funny fizz in her stomach.

“Um......wh-what are you _made_ of?”

Sunny’s brow furrowed in thought and he tapped his lip for a moment.

“Well, you know that tingling feeling when your foot falls asleep?  I think I’m made of _that_.” 

They were interrupted by the ringing of an alarm clock by the stove, and Sunny whooshed over to begin the cooking.  Intrigued, Dawn watched him as he donned a chef’s hat, and expertly cracked an egg into the hot skillet. 

“Um, sunny-side up kind of makes me yak......no offense!”

Sunny just laughed.

“No problem, and none taken.”

Winking at her, he transformed his hand into a spatula so he could spread the yolk the way she wanted.  Next, he switched to another pan and flipped three flapjacks onto a plate.  For the finale, he picked up a pitcher and poured a stream of orange juice through his hand into a crystal goblet, ensuring that it was chilled.  He then casually threw the frozen excess in his palm at the wall, making Dawn giggle.

“So, can you go invisible?”

“Heh, that one’s easy.”  Sunny replied, and he vanished, so only the glass of orange juice was seen floating towards her.

He reappeared barely a foot from her, presenting the drink, and Dawn’s fingers twitched, but she was still uncertain. 

“It’s fresh.”

Carefully, she reached up and took the juice in one hand, while the other wavered a centimeter away from Sunny’s fingers, but she snatched it back.

Every ounce of Sunny’s willpower was keeping him from whooping for joy and spinning in circles.

She wanted to feel him!

“Go ahead.”  He encouraged.

“I’ve never done this before.”  Dawn explained, feeling oddly nervous, for some reason.

“Me neither.”

“...Can you hurt me?”

“No.”

_I’d never forgive myself if I did._

“Can _I_ hurt _you_?”

“No.”

_Not physically._

He drifted closer.

Making a decision, Dawn tentatively raised her hand, and Sunny mirrored the gesture.  As intimate as a first kiss, their hands met in a shy, but exploring touch.  He passed through her skin, and though it was still cold, there was no icy bite like she was expecting.  It felt more like sticking her hand into a flurry of millions and millions of soft, tiny snowflakes.

“ _Cool_.”  She marveled, but her heart skipped when her eyes locked onto his.  So deep and warm and sweet.  Her face flushed and her breath caught as they gazed at each other, neither one daring to say a word.

The spell was abruptly broken by the thud of approaching footsteps, and the two teens pulled apart as a bleary-eyed Marianne walked into the kitchen.  Her fatigue was instantly gone and she stiffened the second she noticed the ghost lingering near her baby sister.

“Oh!  Good morning, Dr. Springfield!”  Sunny exclaimed.  “Breakfast?”

“...Uh...u-um...yeah...yes, th-thank you.”  Marianne stammered, sliding awkwardly around the apparition and into the vacant chair beside Dawn.

Sunny dashed off to the stove again, and the doctor leaned over to murmur to her sister:

“Dawn...you okay?”

The blonde beamed reassuringly at her, and Marianne’s eyebrows rose.  It had been a while since she’d seen Dawn in such a cheerful mood.   

“Mm-hmm.  Don’t worry, Marianne; Sunny’s really nice.”

“ _Sunny_?”

“Yep!”

Marianne flinched when two plates, filled with delicious-smelling pancakes and eggs, were placed before her and Dawn.

“How about a paper, ma’am?”  Sunny asked her.  “New York Times?  The Journal?  Hong Kong Press?”

“Er...s-sure?”

“Comin’ at ya!”

With that, Sunny raced through the wall, knocking his chef’s hat off once it made contact with the solid structure, but his arm snagged it before it fell, and he tossed it onto a hook.  Then, he was out.  

Marianne cocked her head in the direction he’d left, analyzing what she’d just witnessed. 

_Interesting.  This ghost is much more pleasant than that vicious poltergeist from last night.  He’s helpful, generous, kind...  Other than his unfinished business, he seems to be in an excellent state of mental health, for a recluse.  Guess it’s pretty apparent who my initial patient has to be.  Yahoo..._

The important thing was that she knew what her game plan was, and even more so, that Dawn was _significantly_ happier.

Plus, the breakfast Sunny had prepared, was absolutely divine!

“Well,” Marianne sighed, relaxing into her seat and giving Dawn a playful nudge, “hope you’re hungry.”

Dawn smiled in return, and the sisters dug into their meals. 

They were both only a couple of bites in when they heard something.  It sounded like a helicopter...

...and it was getting louder and _louder_!  A harsh wind blew around them, rocking the chandeliers and rattling the dishes. 

Frightened, they clutched each other and knelt beneath the table.  Gradually, they could hear a voice bellowing over the din.  It was someone crudely vocalizing along with Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries”. 

The culprit was revealed to be the _other_ ghost again, descending from the ceiling where he landed in the chair opposite Marianne, who scowled in irritation. 

_Sheesh.  Dramatic, much?_

Bog snickered at their cowering positions and took a deep breath through the nose. 

“I _love_ the smell o' humans in the mornin’!”  He declared and banged his fist hard on the tabletop.    

The vibration caused a window shade behind Dawn and Marianne to fly up, and a flood of sunlight spilled into the room.  Bog hissed and recoiled as if in intense pain.

“AAAHHH!!!  I’M MELTIN’, I’M _MELTIN’_!”

He certainly _was_.  His entire body was smoking and bubbling like acid!    

“OH, WHAT A WORLD!  WHAT A WORLD!”

The girls gaped in shock as he wailed and dripped to the floorboards in a puddle and, with a final, boiling ‘pop’, he disappeared.  

Neither Marianne nor Dawn knew what to do or say in the eerie silence.  The former settled on banality.

“He’s gone.”

“What happened to him?”

“He must’ve...he must’ve crossed over!”

It was her best guess, based on her theories about the supernatural, but when the rest of the window shades shot up in rapid succession, she realized she was sorely mistaken. 

The ghost rematerialized in the far corner, and made a noise like a buzzer on a game show when a contestant got the question wrong.

“Guess again, Tough Girl!”  He sneered with an insane laugh. 

Marianne frowned and helped her sister back into her seat.

“And a good morning to you, _sir_.”  She addressed with mock-politeness. 

Satisfied with his antics, for the time being, Bog sat down again with a leer. 

“Sunny!”  He yelled impatiently.

On cue, Sunny flew in from the one of the windows, but instead of tending to his uncle, he went straight to Marianne and handed her her newspaper.

Furious, Bog seized Sunny by the throat and yanked him up to eye-level.

“How _dare_ ye serve these air-suckin’ intruders before _me_!”  He snarled in a venomous tone, and his blue eyes bled crimson.

“I was just-!”

“ _Give_ me!  My!  **_MEEEAAAALLL_**!!!”  Bog roared, expanding in size. 

The force of his bellow hurled Sunny across the room and into the antique fridge.  Dawn gasped and half-rose, but the fridge door burst open in a blink and Sunny came out with another full plate in his hand.

“Alright, alright.”  He rolled his eyes and slapped his uncle’s breakfast of cake and pastries down before him.

Bog practically attacked his grub with ravenous gusto.  He stuffed handful after handful into his mouth, all while grumbling to himself. 

“...no resepct fer me......an' after all I’ve done fer the little glowworm...”

Horrified, the sisters gawked as they could actually _see_ the food being chewed into mush, gulped down the throat, and then swirled through the stomach where it plopped to the floor below. 

Nauseous, Dawn subtly pushed her plate away.

In the meantime, Sunny was under the table sweeping up his uncle’s mess.

“Hey!  What the hell do ye think yer doin’, short sheet?”  Bog demanded, twisting over to be almost nose to nose with his poor nephew.  “This floor used to be dirty enough to eat off of!”

“But we have company!”

Said company bent down to see what was going on.

“It that right?”  Bog scoffed.  “Well, company loves misery!”

Morphing his head into a soccer player’s shoe, he kicked Sunny out from beneath the table, and he rolled out of sight. 

“BOOM!”  His uncle announced and sat back up with a snobby cackle.

“ _You_ are a disgusting, obnoxious, _cockroach_!”  Marianne barked, enraged at his actions.

“Thank ye!”  Bog gushed as if she’d _complimented_ him!

“I mean, what is your problem?  He was just cleaning the floor!”

“Ah, shut up, princess!”

“Piss off!”

“ _Bite_ me!”

"Oh, go fu-!”

“Marianne!”  Dawn exclaimed, hauling her sister away from the table by the elbow.

“Marianne, what is _wrong_ with you?” She asked frantically, but in a low voice so Bog couldn’t hear.  “Have you gone crazy?!”

The brunette seemed to snap herself out of her angry cloud, and her expression bloomed red with embarrassment. 

“I-!  Oh, God...Dawn, I’m so sorry!  I just...I just hate _bullies_!”

“Well, so do I, but don’t you think _therapy_ would work better than insults, _doctor_?”

“Y-yes!  Of course!  Yes, you’re right.  I don’t know what got into me, but...I’m fine now.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, Butterfly.”  Marianne promised before guiding her sister to the kitchen door.  “Now, you’ve gotta get to school!”

Rooting around in her pocket, she found a five dollar bill, and slipped it into Dawn’s open palm.

“Here you go; try to bring back change.”  She instructed and ushered her sister out of the room.  “I know you’ll have a lot of fun!  Bye!”

Shutting the door behind her before Dawn could protest, Marianne inhaled slowly to gather her wits.

_Okay, Marianne.  You can do this.  Just focus, stay calm, and remember, you’re a professional!  He’s your patient.  He has serious problems, and he needs your help.  And the sooner you help him, the sooner you can find your parents, and put this all in the past._

Squaring her shoulders, she turned around and faced the smirking spirit.

“Alright, buddy.” She began. “ _Clearly_ , we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here.  Now, you know and I know that you really shouldn’t be here so, I’ll tell you what.  Why don’t you finish your meal, and then we can meet in my office and start the process of crossing you over.  What do ya say?”

A glob of masticated cake came shooting at her so fast, she hardly had time to duck as it splattered all over the wall behind her.   

Marianne gasped in alarm and indignation, and advanced on him with dangerously clenched fists and lost composure.

“Why you sorry piece of-!”

“Alexander Bogerton King!” A raspy and disapproving, feminine voice scolded.  “You stop that nonsense, this instant!”   

Marianne froze.

“What the-?  _Please_ , tell me that’s not another ghost!”

“No, _much_ worse.”  Bog grimaced and glared at the archway that led to the back porch, where a shadow was shuffling towards them.  “Meet my mother!”

“Your _what_?!”


	9. Chapter 9

Wisely, Sunny opted _not_ to go back to the kitchen after his uncle had so tactlessly evicted him.  He’d ‘lived’ with Bog long enough to know that the best thing to do when the old grump was in a mood, was to just keep his head down and steer clear. 

Besides, he was _much_ more interested in spending time with Dawn, and when he saw her rush to grab her backpack and hurry out the front doors, he couldn’t resist following after her. 

 _I’ll be like her guardian angel and make_ sure _she has a great first day!_   

It wasn’t a good idea to try and interact with her out in the open, so he kept himself invisible, and drifted through the trees a few yards behind her as she jogged down the wooded lane and through the gate to the main road. 

From there, it was about a twenty minute walk to town, but the cool mid-September morning, coupled with the lush fall colors coating the countryside, made it a pleasant exercise to say the least.  

Sunny grinned happily to himself as he watched Dawn take in all the natural beauty around her with awe and subtle glee.  It truly pleased him to think she was beginning to like this place, even to the slightest degree. 

Her fascination was traded for shyness when she reached the suburbs, and more kids filed into the streets.  He saw her glance longingly at them, but she kept her greetings to herself with slumped shoulders and her eyes on the pavement. 

The ring of a bicycle bell broke the autumn stillness.

“Watch it!”  A cold voice snapped, and Dawn flinched to the side as another teenage girl with long blonde hair and a haughty face sped by, and even cast her a dirty look over her shoulder.     

Frowning at the girl’s nerve, Sunny flew protectively closer to his new friend, just as another bike-riding teen approached her.  This time, it was a boy.  Tall, muscular, with curly, honey-colored locks and kind, hazel eyes.

“Amber, wait up!”  He shouted, passing Dawn at a careful pace, but he looked back and gave her a friendly smile, which she bashfully returned.  

A twinge of pain curled in Sunny’s chest, but he forced himself to ignore it and keep up as Dawn continued on her way.

Marshwood High was your standard American public school, located on the outskirts of Friendship proper, and situated in a square-shaped building of red brick.  The student body wasn’t large by any means, but apparently it was still enough for Dawn to tense nervously as she made her way through the crowded halls to the office. 

Once she had her schedule, map, and books, she found her locker and put in the combination, but the latch seemed to be stuck.  Sunny was just about to phase into the mechanism to fix it for her from the inside, when the locker door beside her closed, revealing the same boy from before.  He reached over, thumped his fist against the metal, and Dawn’s locker swung open with ease.

Sunny winced as she fixed her savior with an obviously impressed gaze. 

“I had that one last year,” the guy explained, smirking warmly, “I’m Nathan.”

“...Dawn.”

Her glow was positively radiant, Sunny thought...

...but it wasn’t for him.

If Sunny had ever experienced jealousy before, he didn’t remember, but it was an unbearable feeling all the same.  Never had he been more aware of his accursed ghostly state; that he was _dead_ , and _she_ was filled to the brim with light and _life_.

Of _course_ , she would be drawn to others of equal measure.  What else could he _possibly_ have been expecting?!

His thought was interrupted by the slam of another locker. 

It was that Amber-girl.        

“Coming, Nathan?”  She asked in a deceptively sweet tone, before shooting a glare at Dawn, and strutting off. 

Nathan shrugged at Dawn in apology and quickly hurried after his abrasive friend. 

Sunny watched him go with no small amount of pleasure, but when Dawn sorted her locker with a tiny, feminine giggle, he sighed and steeled himself.

 _It doesn’t matter what I feel.  Today is about her.  So be_ there _for her and stop being so selfish!_

* * *

Marianne blinked at the squat, old lady that came waddling into the kitchen with two brown grocery bags in her arms.  She wore a long, hunter-green dress, and a light grey, wool shawl draped around her boney shoulders.  Her teased hair was dyed a shade of auburn, her dark eyes were beady, but she had the widest grin the brunette had ever seen on a human being. 

“Hello, dear!”  The woman gushed, setting the bags on the nearest counter and rushing at Marianne to envelop her in an unbelievably tight hug.  “You must be Dr. Springfield!”

“Mph, yes!”  Marianne affirmed, while awkwardly squirming in the unfamiliar embrace.  “Yes, that’s me.  And you are...?”

“Griselda,” was the reply, “I’m the caretaker!  And _that_ skinny lump of hot air is my son.”

Marianne glanced over at the sulking ghost.

 _Her son?  And she’s still alive?  So, he hasn’t been...like this for very long.  Then......this_ has _to mean that I’m right!  My parents ARE out there, somewhere!_

Unfortunately, the excitement would have to wait.  If she wanted to succeed in getting her patient to cross over, she couldn’t afford to jump the gun. Slow and steady were key!

“I hope you don’t mind, dear,” Griselda said, finally releasing Marianne and returning to the abandoned groceries.  “I brought a few things for you and your sister before you arrived yesterday, but I wanted to come back today and make sure the fridge and pantry were _fully_ stocked.” 

“You mean our breakfast food came from you?”

“Yes, indeed.  That’s my job!”

Cautiously, Marianne stepped up to assist her in unloading the haul, but let the knowledgeable caretaker put everything in the right places.

“I’m sorry but, Roland didn’t say anything about a caretaker.” 

Griselda scowled. 

“That’s ‘cause he probably thought I was about to keel over in two seconds.  Hmph!  I hope you won’t be offended, dear, but that Mr. Dempsey is the most arrogant cad I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet!”

Marianne purser her lips to stifle a snicker.  She was beginning to like this lady. 

“ _Trust_ me, _no_ offense taken.  I can’t stand him.” 

“Thank goodness for that!  He’s been skulking around here all year trying to do Lord knows what with this house.  Barely ever asked me for permission or advice.  Thinks just ‘cause he suddenly owns the place, he knows everything about it and can do whatever he wants!  That’s why I didn’t try to interfere when my boy was causing him a ruckus.  Served him right, the snob!  My husband and I built Darkstaff together, so he’d do well to show some respect!” 

“W-wait, you’re-?”  Marianne stammered and pointed between the two.  “ _You’re_ the original owners?”

“Mm-hm!  We’re the Kings!”

“......King Fish co!”

Griselda heaved a dreamy sigh.

“Oh, my!  I haven’t heard that name in _years_!  Yes, we built this house and almost this whole damn town, not that anyone would remember.  Psh!” 

“...or would _care_ to.”  The ghost grumbled.

“Ah, put a sock in it, young man!  Don’t you think you’re off the hook!  Imagine!  A son of mine being so dreadfully rude to such a brilliant and lovely girl!”

A blush crept across Marianne’s face, and Griselda took her hands in her own.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re here.”  She murmured, emphatically.  “To know that you’re going to give my wayward boy peace at last!  You’re a gift from heaven, Dr. Springfield!” 

The poltergeist scoffed. 

“I’m not so sure she’s a _real_ doctor; she’s been pretty unprofessional so far!  Ye shoulda heard the way she insulted me, mother!”

“Aw, horseradish!  I don’t blame her one iota for it!  You’re more than enough to drive _anyone_ bananas!”

“I dorn’t need any help from an intrusive quack like her!”

“You watch your mouth, mister!  That’s a lie, and you know it!  So, you’ll do whatever the doctor tells you!”

“No, I will NOT!  And ye _can’t_ make me!”  

Apparently, he spoke too soon, for Griselda immediately sniffled and her eyes welled with crocodile tears.

“So this is the thanks I get?”  She wailed, fishing a hanky from her dress pocket and wiping her nose.  “For carrying you in my womb for nine months?  For enduring _twenty-three_ hours of excruciating labor?  For feeding you, clothing you, and slaving away to give you the best education?”

Her son was not moved.

“Yer gonna have to do better than that, mom.”

Marianne swore a chill blew through the room as Griselda dropped the act as quickly as it came and fixed her boy with a serious frown.

“Fine,” she spat, “but consider this: I am ninety-six, so I won’t be around much longer, and if you _don’t_ cross over, then that means _I’ll_ have unfinished business, so then I’ll be with you day in and day out...nagging and nagging......forever and ever and **_ever_**.”

The ghost’s cheeks puffed in horrified anger.

“Why you-!  Ye can’t threaten me like that!”

“It’s not a threat, dear.  It’s a _fact_!” 

While the family went on squabbling, Marianne listened in calm, analytical silence.

 _I’ve definitely got my work cut out for me._  

* * *

Back at the school, Dawn’s rambunctious class was being called to order by the teacher, Mr. Curtis.  Dawn herself, had claimed a vacant seat in the back in hopes of staying under the radar.  Nothing was worse than first day introductions in front of a room full of teenagers.  

“Okay, gang!  Let’s settle down!  Put a lid on it!”  Mr. Curtis barked.  “I’ve got a couple of announcements to make.”

Gradually, everyone fell quiet. 

“First: the asbestos removal from the gym is taking a little longer than planned, so we’re gonna have to push back the Halloween dance by a...few months.”

The students groaned and fussed in disappointment, but a slim hand shot up over everyone’s heads.  It was Amber again, and she rose to address the class.

“Well, as most of you know,” she purred in a tone of blatant self-importance, “ _my_ parents have finished the new boathouse.  So, I’m sure it’d be no problem having the party at _my_ place!”     

The suggestion was not met with much enthusiasm.  It seemed as if everyone was used to her constantly vying to be the center of attention. 

“Uh, great; that’s done!  Thank you, Amber.”  Mr. Curtis nodded, before catching Dawn’s eye.  “Secondly: we have a new student today, and I’d like you all to make her feel right at home.  Would you please come up and say hi to everyone, Miss Springfield?” 

Inwardly cursing, Dawn slid from her seat and walked to the board, doing her best to ignore the mumbling and hushed chuckles of her classmates.  And as luck would have it, Amber’s desk was front and center, and even that cute boy, Nathan, was staring at her.  Oh, joy. 

Dawn hated this.  She felt naked and alone.  Desperately, she wished she had a friend in this awful room. 

Apparently, God was listening, for out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a poster of Mt. Rushmore.  Except there was something wrong with Washington....

He wasn’t there. 

It was Sunny!  And he winked at her!

She started at the teacher’s abrupt voice.

“So, why don’t you tell us your name and something special about yourself, Miss Springfield?”

“...Um, well...Hi, my name is Dawn.”

Amber snorted.

“Isn’t that a _boy’s_ name?”

Several kids snickered, prompting Mr. Curtis to snap his fingers and shake his head.

“Not when you spell it like the _sunrise_.”  Dawn replied archly, giving Amber a challenging quirk of her brow, which was answered with an eye-roll.

“Anyway,” she persisted, “I just moved here with my sister, from Santa Fe, and uh...Friendship seems like a.......really friendly place.”

She knew it was a lame finish, and someone deliberately snored to concur.

Little did anyone know, that Sunny was exacting some payback.  Stealthily, he snuck under each chair and set his mischief in motion.  It was nowhere near as mean-spirited as some of the stunts his uncle would’ve pulled, but it would do the trick. 

“So where are you guys living?”  Mr. Curtis asked politely.

“Yeah,” Amber sneered, “in outer space?”  

The class rippled with laughter again.

“No...” Dawn responded, but had to speak up to be heard, “... _Darkstaff_?”

 _That_ killed all the teasing and merriment, and Dawn’s stomach sank along with everybody’s jaws.  Even Mr. Curtis was pale.

“You’ve heard of it?”  She muttered, not knowing what else to say to break the tension. 

A red-headed boy gaped at her.

“You actually _live_ there?”  

“Well...yeah!”  Dawn shrugged, thinking of Sunny and trying to make it seem like it was no big deal.  “I mean I know it looks funky and stuff from the _outside_ and everything but... _inside_ it’s kinda cool.”

“If you drink _blood_.”  Amber huffed in disgust.

This time, the students’ ridicule was _much_ less pronounced.  Surprisingly, there was a mixture of both wonder _and_ trepidation as they gawked at Dawn.     

“Mr. Curtis!”  Another boy exclaimed, practically bouncing with an idea.  “Check this, we’re dead for the Halloween dance, right?  She has a seriously, _seriously_ creepy house with room to spare!”

“Hey, wait a minute!”  Amber cried indignantly, and jumped out of her seat.  “I thought we were having the party at _my_ place!”

No one said a word.

“Okay, we’ll take a vote!  Whoever wants the party at _my_ house, raise your hand!”

She must’ve gravely underestimated her popularity, for not a single hand went up.  Not even Nathan’s. 

Mr. Curtis took over.

“Darkstaff?”

A sea of cheers and hands filled the air, and though Dawn was grateful for the victory over Amber, she prayed that Marianne wouldn’t have an issue with this impromptu decision.  She was there for a job, not to play host to a bunch of high school kids.

Plus, would this make her peers accept her?  Or ultimately just label her as the freak with the conveniently haunted mansion?

Her anxieties were distracted by the blare of the bell, but to her shock, when everyone stood up to leave, they all fell in a heap to the floor at once.  Their shoestrings had been tied together!  

And Dawn knew _exactly_ who was responsible.

Her next period was study hall, so she had no trouble asking to use the bathroom as soon as everything was sorted.  Ducking into the sanctuary of tile an idle gossip, she checked the four stalls to ensure they were empty.  The last thing she needed was a witness.

“Sunny?”  She called impatiently.  “I know you’re there!  Come on out!”

Obedient and sheepish, Sunny came coasting through the mirror. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”  Dawn demanded, planting her hands on her hips.  “That wasn’t very nice!” 

Sunny wrung his hands. 

“I-I’m sorry, Dawn. I just...didn’t want you to be alone on your first day...and I didn’t want those kids to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Dawn froze.  She hadn’t anticipated _that_ excuse...and it touched her...

... _deeply_.

But that didn’t mean he could mess with people like his nasty uncle! 

“Well, I appreciate your concern, but next time...just tie Amber’s shoes together, huh?”

Sunny beamed.   

“She’s a real pain, isn’t she?”

“Tell me about it...”

Trailing off, Dawn leaned against the sinks with a rather dismal expression. 

“You alright?”  Sunny asked, drawing to her side.

“Yeah, it’s just...as first days go, this could’ve been a lot worse, but......I’ve never had anyone hate me right off the bat.  And now that I have this party to throw, which I don’t even know if I _can_ have yet, my whole reputation is at stake.  I am so sick of moving and starting over, Sunny.  I want Marianne to let us stay, and I want to make a good impression.  This is my only chance, and if I blow it, then...”

It was torture for Sunny to see Dawn so miserable, especially when he couldn’t do anything to make it better.

.

.

.

Or _could_ he?

Playfully nudging her, he began to hum the tune of his favorite song. 

Dawn cocked her head at him in confusion, and he sang:

_Don't worry about a thing~_

_'Cause every little thing gonna be alright~_

“Sunny, what are you-?”

_Singing' don't worry about a thing~_

_'Cause every little thing gonna be alright~_

“ _Sunny_...”  Dawn groaned, but she was unable to hide her amusement, and her friend swirled around her to the smooth beat.

_Rise up this mornin'~_

_Smiled with the risin' sun~_

_Three little birds~_

_Pitch by my doorstep~_

_Singin' sweet songs~_

_Of melodies pure and true~_

_Sayin', (this is my message to you)~_

Snatching her hands, he tugged her into a swinging spin, and Dawn nearly squealed. Together they danced and harmonized in the echoing bathroom. 

_Singing' don't worry 'bout a thing~_

_'Cause every little thing gonna be alright~_

_Singing' don't worry (don't worry) 'bout a thing~_

_'Cause every little thing gonna be alright~_

Out of breath from giggling, and their jig, Dawn’s face was brighter than the sun, all her doubts were gone, for the moment.  Just at Sunny intended. 

“Thanks, Sunny.”  She whispered, eyes sparkling. 

 _His_ were soft and inviting.  So much so, Dawn felt her knees quake.  It took the sound of passing footsteps in the hall to bring her to her senses, and she stepped away with burning cheeks and a curiously thumping heart. 

“I’ve uh...g-gotta get...b-back to class.”  She stuttered, no clue as to what was making her so jittery.  “You can keep hanging around, if you want.  But no more pranks, okay?”

“You got it.”  He agreed, and vanished. 

Dawn spent the rest of the school day feeling immensely more at ease amongst the throng of adolescent strangers, but occasionally, she wondered whether or not her sister was getting on just as well.   


	10. Chapter 10

Dawn’s pondering about her sister was well-warranted.  After witnessing the most bizarre bickering session of her life, Marianne finally put her foot down and took charge, instructing them both to go into the two-story library, where she’d decided to set up her office, and commence with the session. 

The grumpy poltergeist flatly refused, but his mother saw otherwise, and scolded him all the way out of the kitchen and into the dusty couch.

Marianne shut the double doors and approached them.

“Thank you, Griselda.  I think I can take it from here.”

The older woman looked between Marianne and her irritated son.  She just knew the second she left, he’d bolt from the room.  Plus, the doctor wouldn’t be able to learn much about him on her own.

“Actually, dear...” she said, twiddling her fingers, “...you might need me to stay.”

“Why?”

“Well, because...” Mrs. King scratched her head.  “He sort of has amnesia; he doesn’t remember very much about his life, so I’m the only one who can fill in the blanks.  _And_ having me here will make sure he tells you the truth about what he _does_ know.” 

_Amnesia?  Is that common for all ghosts?  ...Could that mean...my parents...?_

Shaking her head to concentrate, Marianne picked up a pen and pad from the desk and planted herself in the adjacent easy chair. 

“Alright then,” she nodded and politely gestured to the space beside the ghost, “please, have a seat.” 

Pleased, Griselda toddled over and daintily sat on the center cushion, smoothing out her skirt and patting her hair. 

“So then...what’s first, dear?”

“Well, we should begin by getting to know each other.”  Marianne replied, and turned her attention to her pouting patient.  “I’m Dr. Marianne Springfield, and you said your name was Alexander...Bogerton King?”

The spirit scowled.

“No, _I_ didn’t.  _She_ did.  My _name_ is _Bog_ , and I wish to be addressed as such!”

Marianne blinked in surprise.

_Bog..._

Griselda awkwardly cleared her throat.

“I’m afraid he’s always hated his first name, dear.  So, he’s gone by ‘Bog’ ever since he was a child.”

“Yes, it’s _fitting_.”  Bog spat. “Ugly place, ugly _face_.”

“Bog!  How many times do I have to tell you?  You are NOT ugly!”

 _Low self-esteem.  Common trait behind bullying behavior._ Marianne thought, jotting down a few notes.

“How old are you, Bog?”

“Seventy-eight.”

“He _lived_ to be _twenty_ -eight.”  Griselda clarified.

“And how did you, uh......die?”

Something unspoken passed between the mother and son.  Bog crossed his arms and glowered out the window, while Griselda took out her hanky again and twisted it between her fingers, suddenly melancholy. 

Marianne felt the blood rush to her cheeks and a twinge in her chest as she realized that technically, she _was_ still speaking to a parent who had lost her child.

“It was, um......l-liver f-f-failure; 1945.”

“...I see."  The doctor murmured and wrote more notes before addressing Bog.  “Bog, can you tell me what’s the last thing you _do_ remember about being alive?”

“Whiskey; and _lots_ of it.”

“Oh, _Bog_!” 

Moaning in agony, Mrs. King dabbed her face with her hanky as _real_ tears spilled over and down her cheeks, and Marianne put two and two together.

_Last memory is alcohol...cause of death: liver failure...seems to have been a case of slow-acting suicide.  Depression...must determine the cause._

“Were you in the war?”

“What?”

“She said you died in 1945.  So, were you in the war?”

“No.”

Marianne glanced at Griselda who shook her head.

“No, we wasn’t, dear.  He was here, running the family company.”

“Hmm......then let’s talk about your father, Bog.  What do you remember about him?”

“That he was a tough ol’ _bastard_.”

His mother heaved a tired sigh and Marianne quirked a brow for an explanation.

“My husband died when Bog was fifteen, and he wasn’t the most... _outwardly_ affectionate man.  He _was_ stern and withdrawn, and always very busy with his job, but he _loved_ Bog more than _anything_ else in this world.”

The mere _strength_ of Griselda’s conviction brooked no doubt whatsoever...

“He used to take him hunting and fishing in his spare time!  Remember that, sweetheart?”

“Fer the _hundredth_ time, mother.  _No_ , I _dorn’t_!”

...but there was something Marianne didn’t quite understand.

“If he can’t remember his father very well, how does he remember _you_?”

Mrs. King drew in a deep, shuddering breath. 

“He didn’t at first.  You see, after he... _died_...well, I couldn’t afford to live in this house alone......and the memories were just too painful for me, under the circumstances...so, I left for a while; not knowing he was...still around.  I came back in the mid-seventies, after I heard some rumors, and I found him.  He tried to scare to me away just like all the others, but I was persistent.  It took a bit of pushing and patience, and there’re still a few things he’s fuzzy about, but he remembered me for the most part.”

“That’s excellent news.”  Marianne smiled, scribbling across the pad.  “That means we can get to the root of his unfinished business via constant exposure, because you proved that he’s _capable_ of having more memories triggered.”

“ _And_ bein’ _bored_ to death; _pun_ INTENDED!”  Bog shouted, leaping from the couch.

“Bog, sit down!”  His mother chided.

“No!  I am _done_ fer the day.  I’ve _definitely_ got better things to do that listen to a couple o’ ladies chatter about me an’ things I _dorn’t_ remember, and _dorn’t_ **care** about!”

“Bog, I-!”

Marianne raised her hand to silence her.

“You’re absolutely right, Bog.”

The ghost frowned at her in confusion.  The very _last_ thing he’d expected was for _her_ to agree with him!

“What?”

“We certainly won’t make any progress if you’re not on board.  I want you to be as comfortable as possible, but it’s clear that you’re harboring some hostility, so...tell you what.  I want you to cut loose.  Take out your aggression on any inanimate objects in this room.” 

Bog skeptically eyed her for a beat, but then shot a look at a large cardboard box on the desk labeled: Marianne’s Office.

“ _Anythin’_?”  He grinned darkly.

Marianne, catching his intention, lifted her chin in defiance.

“ _Anything_.” 

“Heh, as ye wish, _princess_.”

Immediately, Bog zoomed over to the box and opened the lid.  It was filled with framed diplomas and pictures.  Grabbing the topmost one, he read it out loud: 

“Johns Hopkins University; very impressive!  PULL!” 

With that, he tossed the certificate into the air and morphed his hand into a gun, shooting it to pieces. 

“Bog!”  Griselda cried in horror as her son threw another.  “Oh Bog, no!  Stop th-!”

“Shh, shh.”  Marianne whispered.  “It’s alright.”

“But, dear!  You’re beautiful diplomas-!” 

“Can be easily replaced.  He needs to blow off steam, and this is a _much_ healthier way than trying to frighten people, or cause them physical harm, trust me.”

She would know.  Her apartment had been trashed for _days_ after she’d discovered Roland’s infidelity.  Nothing made you feel better than wanton destruction when your life was in the toilet.

Frame after frame he destroyed with maniacal glee, while the women just stared.  One half embarrassed and anxious, the other half calm and increasingly intrigued. 

“It’s pretty fascinating what he can do.”  Marianne commented, watching Bog fly around and continue blasting her pictures and degrees, complete with sound effects!

“Huh?”

“Has he always been able to do things like that?”

“Er...I’m not sure.  Seems like every year he learns some new, awful trick.”

“I captured him in a vacuum bag last night.”

Forgetting Bog’s display, Griselda faced Marianne with an expression of blatant shock and humor.

“You _did_?  Ha!  You’re quite a _resourceful_ young lady, aren’t you?  Wish _I’d_ thought of that.”

“He wasn’t able to escape; at least, not right away.  I wonder why...”

Marianne hadn’t meant to voice that aloud, and she didn’t notice Griselda’s amusement melt into suspicious puzzlement.

The box was almost empty by this point, and through sheer luck, Marianne just so happened to recall exactly _what_ was at the very bottom, and a wave of panic broke over her skin as she saw Bog seize it and fling it over her head.

Leaping like an all-star, she snatched the frame before it could be ruined and clutched it to her chest. 

“NOT... _this_ one!  Thank you very much.”

Content with his mischief, but wanting to know what she’d made herself protect from him, Bog drifted closer and managed to catch a glimpse of a laughing man and woman before Marianne obscured them inside her sweater. 

“Who’s the sickeningly, love-struck couple, doc?” 

“Just my parents.”  Marianne casually answered, sitting back down and making sure the picture was tucked safely against her side and under her arm.  “How do you feel now?”

Bog shrugged indifferently.

“Do you feel a little less threatened by me?”

From the way he started, Marianne imagined he would’ve been blushing like crazy, had he been alive.  Even Griselda stifled a snicker.

“I-!  I am not _threatened_ by _you_!”  Bog snapped.

“So, your behavior thus far has been your way of _welcoming_ me and my sister?”

“Wha-?  _No_!”

“Then tell me, Bog, why do you feel the need to terrorize people?”

“What would _you_ do if a bunch a nosy strangers came bargin’ into yer house without yer permission?!  Besides, I’m a bloody _ghost_!  I’m _supposed_ to terrorize people!” 

“Sunny doesn’t.  At least, not on purpose.”

“Sunny’s a damn whelp!”

“Why?  Because he doesn’t act like _you_?”

“Yes!  Wait, _no_!  I dorn’t kn-!”

“I _will_ concede that it is perfectly natural to be protective over your home and property, but in this particular instance, I can _promise_ you that I am _not_ your enemy.  I’m here for _you_.” 

Bog appeared almost comically stunned.  She was, without a doubt, the most baffling person he’d ever met!  Where was the skittish, but fiery tigress he’d fought only a handful of hours ago?  Now she had all the wisdom and control of an eagle owl! 

.

.

.

Not to mention the big, bright amber eyes...

No. 

No, he couldn’t fall for her mind games!

“Y-yer......yer still workin’ fer that...that Roland guy!  _He’s_ after my house!  Darkstaff is _mine_!”

“Fair enough, but consider this: was King Fish co. still your _father’s_ company after he died?” 

“What?  No.”

“Then why should Darkstaff keep on belonging to you?”

“Be-!  Because I dorn’t _want_ to _leave_ it!  It’s my _home_!”

“That’s fine, Bog.”

“...It _is_?”

“Of course.  I can’t force you to cross over, especially when you’re not ready nor willing to take that step, and it’s normal to be wary of the unknown.  But let’s examine the catalyst behind what eventually led to your death.  Do you remember _why_ you were drinking so much?”

After a beat, Bog shook his head. 

“Griselda, do you know?”

“No, unfortunately.”  The caretaker sniffled.  “He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.”

“Did he have history of drinking?”

“Heavens no!  It just...happened one day.  He was miserably downing bottle after bottle, not listening to a word anyone said, and letting the business go to rot!  I had no idea what hurt my baby!”

Marianne bit her lip and wrote a line on her pad.

“Consistent and _heavy_ alcoholism is often used as a means to run away from one’s troubles.  And this was abrupt, so something _must’ve_ driven you to it.  You really can’t think of _any_ incident that might’ve triggered this for you, Bog?”

“...No.”

Maybe it was the quiet and forlorn softness of his tone, or the soulful, steadiness of his sapphire gaze, but Marianne’s entire body was arrested by a strange sensation.  One that made everything seem...warm and...simultaneously thrilling _and_ peaceful. 

Bog was just as affected, if not more so.  Her jasmine and cinnamon cookie scent was stronger than ever.

As for Griselda, her eyes shifted back and forth between the two, hardly believing what she was seeing, but growing happier and happier as the seconds ticked by; daring to hope.  Since his passing, she had never seen her son so... _docile_ with anyone before.  And the fact that she’d seen and heard that the doctor was more than capable of combating his temper with her own wit and sass, made the woman’s heart glow with a long dormant dream.  Did they even realize that they’d been leaning into each other?    

 _I may be old, but I can still recognize the signs, when I see ‘em!  Why, they act almost like me and Briar did when we were their age.  Yes...there’s a spark there.  I’ll bet my dentures on it!_       

Coughing firmly to break their spell, Griselda smirked to herself as doctor and ghost flinched at the noise.  Bog jerked back a few feet, and didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, while Marianne’s cheeks flushed and her spine went ramrod straight.   

_Precious darlings!_

Marianne was so flustered, she almost dropped her pad and pen to the rug.  What on earth had gotten into her?  Surely, she could conduct herself more professionally that this!  Just because this was pretty much all new to her didn’t mean she needed to lose focus for...whatever reason. 

“Uh...y-yes, well...I-I think we’ll need to... _revisit_ the task of...r-refreshing your memory.  W-we may need some...outside help.  What sort of records do you still have, Griselda?  Photographs, journals, maybe even business ledgers, receipts?” 

“Oh, I’ve got plenty!  But he’s seen them all countless times.  However......there _may_ be even _more_ hiding around the mansion.  We’ll have to do some digging.”  

“Sounds like a plan!  We’ll start our search today!”  Marianne announced, grinning eagerly.  “But before _you_ go, Bog, I just have a few more questions.” 

“...About what?”  Bog obliged hesitantly.

“Does Sunny have amnesia too?”

Bog gave her a bemused frown, but answered:

“ _Yes_.”

 _High likelihood of all spirits suffering memory loss._ Marianne jotted, and worried her lip.  This might not bode well for her desire to contact her parents.  What would she do if-?

“What do ye mean, ‘liklehood’?!”  Bog exclaimed, having read over her shoulder without her notice.  “That’s the most _basic_ fact about the afterlife!  How do ye _not_ know this if yer a ‘ghost doctor’?!”

“Bog, don’t yell at her!”  Griselda reprimanded, rising from the couch and stepping to Marianne’s side. 

“Aw, I _knew_ it!  I _knew_ ye were a quack!”  Bog raged, feeling humiliated and somehow, betrayed.  “Ye dorn’t know _anythin’_ about ghosts!  Admit it!”

His mother stamped her foot.

“That’s _enough_ , Bog!  I’m sure there must be some mistake.”

“Oh, there’s a mistake, alright!  She’s a _fake_!”

“BOG!” 

Marianne’s ears burned and she clenched her fists as Griselda fixed her with a kind, but cautious stare. 

“You _do_ know about ghosts; right, dear?  I mean, you _have_ done this before?”

Or were her suspisions about to be confirmed?

The brunette swallowed and sighed.  She had no choice but to come clean.

“Actually...until now, I _thought_ I _had_.  In the past, the most I ever felt during these sessions was a...presence, but after I talked to it for a while, the friends and loved ones who hired me claimed that it worked, so I assumed that was all there was to it.  I’d...never seen anything like Bog and Sunny before.”

The tense hush that fell over the library was unbearable, and it was worse when Bog uttered a small, cruel chuckle.

“So yer nothin’ but a _liar_.  Well, I dorn’t need to be lectured by someone like _you_.  So, ye know what?  Ye can jus' pack yer bags an' get the _fu_ -!

“ _Wait_.” 

At Griselda’s interruption, both Bog and Marianne gaped at her, completely perplexed.

“Mother!  What’s the matter with ye?  She _admitted_ she’s-!”

“I heard her......but I don’t care.”

“ _What_?!” 

“Everybody needs a chance.  ...And I have faith in her.  She can do it.”

“Ye _can’t_ be serious!”

“Th-thank you, Griselda.”  Marianne breathed in wonder and renewing confidence.  “I swear I’ll do the best I can.”

“The _hell_ ye will!”  Bog snarled.  “I still haven’t agreed to cross over, an’ even if I _had_ , what can _you_ do?!  Ye _can’t_ help me!  Ye dorn’t know _shit_ about me or what I am!”

“You’re a human being!”

Bog froze at her outburst.

“Yes, I admit I don’t know ‘shit’ about ghosts!  But does that really matter?  You may not have flesh and blood anymore, but you’re still human!  And my background was in traditional psychiatry for...living people!  I heal minds, not physical bodies, so ideally, you’re my perfect patient!”

“She makes a valid point, dear.”

Leaving the picture of her parents on the chair, Marianne rose with conviction.

“I’ll tell you the truth, Bog.  I chose to give ghosts therapy because I’ve been trying to find my parents.  They were killed in a car accident two years ago."

A winch marred Bog’s sharp features at her confession and his eyes flickered to his own mother, who gasped and covered her mouth.   

“Oh, you poor thing!  I’m so sorry, dear!”

Undeterred, Marianne glared hard into Bog’s astonished and disarmingly blue eyes. 

“Bog, I _can_ help you...if you’ll let me.  And...I’d like for you to help me, too.  I’m not asking you to trust me or be my friend, just...work with me.  _Please_.”

For the longest minute, no one spoke nor moved.  An internal war was in full swing inside Bog’s head.  He didn’t want to go anywhere, and yet...he couldn’t deny his curiosity as to what might unfold if he at least humored her.  She was so determined and passionate.  More than anything, he knew he wanted to see more of her fire.

_Guess that seals it...for now, anyway._

“Whatever ye say, Tough Girl.”


	11. Chapter 11

When school ended, and Dawn was safely out of the suburbs and on the open country road leading to Darkstaff, she chatted amiably with Sunny about the rest of her day. 

Her ghost friend remained invisible in case of any stray cars that might pass by, but kept up with her as they discussed how, despite one uppity brat, the majority of the student body had been pleasantly welcoming to her after that first period.  She even got invited to sit at the cheerleader’s table during lunch!

“See?  I told you everything would be alright!”  Sunny said, flying around her in wide, lazy circles that she couldn’t see. 

“Yeah...but I know they were just being nice because of the party.”

“I don’t think so.  You’re the coolest and prettiest girl in the school!  Who _wouldn’t_ wanna be friends with _you_?” 

“Um, hello?  What about Amber?”

“Heh, who with a _brain_?”

Dawn giggled and ducked her head to hide a blush.

“You’re sweet, Sunny.”

“Nope, just honest.”

When they made it to the turn off, Dawn strolled up the drive beside Sunny, who reappeared under the protective cover of the thick trees.  It was funny, when she and Marianne first arrived, Dawn had felt a little on edge about the dark forest surrounding the property, but now she was surprisingly at ease beneath their jagged and shadowy branches.  After all the second most ‘terrifying’ thing they had to offer was currently her best buddy!   

It wasn’t until they reached the clearing that she began to drag her feet a bit.  She didn’t even care that she was scuffing her shoes in the dirt.   

Sunny immediately noticed, and floated close to her shoulder in concern. 

“What’s the matter, Dawn?” 

“...Nothing, it’s just......I’m so nervous about asking Marianne if this Halloween dance thing is okay!  I mean, what if she says no?  What would I do?”

“I can’t see why she would say no.  She _wants_ you to socialize and make new friends, doesn’t she?”

“Well, yes, but......she’ll be working, and she takes her job very seriously.  She might think that a bunch of teenagers coming over to go nuts would...just be too much of a distraction.”

“Aw, but Darkstaff’s got plenty of space, and your class isn’t that large!”  Sunny countered.  “There’s no reason why she can’t hold her therapy sessions somewhere upstairs, and you guys can take over the atrium.  It’s big enough to be a ballroom!  She and uncle Bog would never know you were there!”

Dawn stopped in her tracks and blanched in horror.

“Oh, _no_!”

“ _Now_ what’s wrong?”

“I _completely_ forgot about your _uncle_!”

“... _Ah_ ; that _is_ a problem.”

A flock of teens inside Darkstaff with Bog nearby?  He’d think it was Christmas!

“Great!”  Dawn groaned, throwing up her hands.  “We can just forget about the whole thing now!  There’s no way your uncle will stay away from a bunch of anxious and loud strangers in his house!  He’ll ruin everything!” 

“Wait, wait!  Hold on a second, Dawn!”  Sunny cried, flying in front of her.  “The party’s not for another few weeks!  Maybe he’ll cross over!  Or if not, he should make enough progress by then to leave you all alone for the night!”

“...Do you really think so?”

“Trust me, Dawn, after what I saw last night, if _anyone’s_ capable of getting through to my uncle Bog, it’s your sister!” 

Dawn ran a hand through her golden hair, and Sunny forced himself not to stare as the sunlight glinted off the smooth strands and made her shine like an absolute angel.  

“I guess you’ve got a point.  I just hope Marianne won’t lose her cool in the meantime.  You should’ve seen her this morning!  She’s never gotten so riled up by anybody other than Roland, and that was _personal_.  This is _business_!  She knows better!”

“My uncle tends to have that effect on people.”  Sunny commented sheepishly.  “What happened with Roland and your sister, if you don’t mind my asking?” 

A sigh passed Dawn’s lips and she shrugged.

“I don’t exactly know; she won’t tell me.  They were engaged a few years ago, but then she just suddenly broke it off and wanted nothing to do with him.  If I had to _guess_...I’d say he _probably_ cheated on her; he was always a shameless flirt, but I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

“Geez, what a creep!  He so full of himself, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.”

“Me either, honestly......but Sunny, do you _really_ believe that Marianne can keep Bog in line?” 

“I’m positive.  I mean, the manor’s still standing, ain’t it?”  He insisted, gesturing to the crest of the hill.  “That’s gotta be a good sign!”

Dawn had to admit, she _did_ feel tremendously better seeing that Darkstaff was just as she’d left it: solemn, but intact.  Though she spotted an old and unfamiliar, daffodil-yellow Cadillac parked next to the shabby station wagon. 

“Plus, aunt Griselda was supposed to come by today,” the boy spirit went on, unwittingly answering Dawn’s question, “and uncle Bog usually takes it down a notch when she’s around.”

“Who’s aunt Griselda?”

“Bog’s mom, the caretaker.”

“His _mom_ is still _alive_?!” 

“Yup.  She’s ninety-six, but she’s alive and kicking.”

“ _Wow_.”

As the pair made their way further up the path to the porch, Dawn kept sneaking glances at her companion out of the corner of her eye.  Her mind buzzed with questions about _Sunny’s_ parents, his life before all this, his likes and dislikes... 

...and how she was going to gently break the news to him that besides Bog, there was someone _else_ who wasn’t going to be allowed at the dance.     

It wasn’t fair and she knew it, but he was a _ghost_ and the party had to be a success, if she was going to make the right impression.  If he frightened everyone away, which she knew he would, even by accident, _that_ would be the end of it, and she’d never live it down.  She’d be labeled the whacko freak with the haunted mansion, and she’d make no friends until she left for college, which was barely less than a year away! 

_I wish you were alive, Sunny.  Then no one would be scared of you, and I could go to the dance with you in a heartbeat!_

Unfortunately for her, Sunny was already happily fantasizing about dancing with Dawn to every slow and romantic song he could think of amongst a sea of costumed kids.  For just one evening, he could pretend to be normal with the girl of his dreams! 

* * *

Inside, they were met with the most delicious scent coming from the kitchen, where they found a woman, whom Dawn assumed was Griselda, stirring a pot of beef stew.  The blonde was glad of it.  She loved Marianne to the moon and back, but she was a lousy cook. 

“You must be Dawn!”  The lady gushed, giving her a warm hug which she discovered was incredibly easy to return.  “I’m Griselda the caretaker, and it’s _wonderful_ to meet you, dear!  I hope you liked your school?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Griselda tittered like a bird.

“Oh, sweetie!  Please, call me aunt Griselda; like Sunny, does!”  She instructed, then turning an amused eye on the young ghost.  “I guess now I know where _you’ve_ been all day!  Come here, you little _imp_!”

Laughing, Sunny launched himself into his aunt’s arms and they spun around in their merriment.  Dawn watched them with a tenderness in her heart she hadn’t felt in years. 

But then something occurred to her.

“Hey, how can you do that?”

The pair paused and looked at her.

“Do what, dear?”

“How can you hold him like that?  Like he’s solid?  My hand passed right through him this morning!”

“Oh, that.”  Sunny chuckled.  “Well, let’s see if I can describe this accurately...erm......you know how energy can’t be created nor destroyed?  It can only change form?”

“Yeah?”

“If I concentrate hard enough, I can make myself solid or even transform into different shapes or whatever, for a short amount of time.”

Dawn’s brow furrowed in thought.

“So... _that’s_ how you were able to...cook breakfast and...why you felt like a pillow when I-” she blushed, “f-f-fell on you?”

Sunny nodded.

“But what about your uncle?  Why couldn’t he get out of that vacuum bag right away?”

Griselda snorted at the memory of her son’s hilarious defeat and went back to the stove.

“Our abilities are driven by our emotions.”  Sunny explained.  “When uncle Bog got sucked into the vacuum, I think he was too shocked and confused to focus his energy and free himself, at first.  Stuff like that happens to me sometimes, too.”

“Huh, that’s interesting.”

“Yes, and your sister’s been learning _all_ about ghosts and their... _logistics_ this afternoon.”  Griselda added with what Dawn could’ve _sworn_ was a rather knowing grin.  “She and my son have been talking for _hours_.  He’s never been so cordial!”

“You’re kidding.”  Sunny blinked.  “Uncle _Bog_?”    

“I'm as serious as bowl of prunes!  If you don’t believe me, go into the parlor and see for yourself.  But regardless, you both should run along.  I’m sure you have homework, Dawn.  I’ll call you all when dinner’s ready!”

“O-okay.”  Dawn beamed politely, backing to the kitchen door.  “It was nice to meet you, aunt Griselda!”

“And you too, dear!” 

“Come on, Dawn.”  Sunny said, taking her hand.  “Let’s go find your sister!”

It was strange, holding a hand that wasn’t made of flesh, for she could feel no bones nor loose skin.  In fact, it was more like touching an icy, rubber mannequin.  Sunny’s grip was firm and cold, but also gentle and soothing in its own way, and Dawn didn’t mind it one bit. 

Together, they crossed the atrium to the living room and, sure enough, saw Dr. Springfield and Bog sitting side by side on the couch.  The former was rifling through a box of papers and some crinkly leather-bound notebooks, while the latter was aimlessly flipping channels. 

“Hi, Marianne!  I’m home!”  Dawn greeted, letting Sunny go so she could give her sister a kiss on the cheek.  

“Hey, you!  Did you have a good day?”

“Mm-hmm, it was alright.  How about you?”

Marianne glanced contently at Bog. 

“It’s been productive.”

At the arrival of the teens, Bog shot a stony look at his nephew.

“ _Sunny_.”

“Uncle _Bog_.”

Marianne cleared her throat to ease the tension, but whatever she was going to say was cut off by the doorbell. 

“Who could _that_ be?”  The doctor wondered aloud.

“I’ll get it!”  Dawn volunteered, but leaned down to quickly whisper in her sister’s ear.  “But there’s something I have to ask you later, and it’s _super_ important.”

“Oh...okay, sure.  Just remind me!  And by the way, if that’s Roland out there, tell him I’m not in.”

“I will.”  Dawn promised and turned to Sunny.  “I’ll be right back!”

She hurried off, but like a magnet, Sunny soon followed after her with a dreamy gleam in his eyes, which did _not_ escape Marianne’s notice.   

“I think somebody’s got a crush.”  She sighed, and shook her head.

Bog scoffed.

“The twit.  As if anyhtin’ could happen.  But love’s a bloody waste o’ time, anyway.”

“Well, they _are_ just kids, and I can’t blame them for that, but for adults, I wholeheartedly agree with you; it’s foolish.  Pure and simple.”

“Nothin’ but trouble an’ misery.”

“Lies and more lies, _that’s_ what you get.”

“Pain.”

“Sorrow.”

“WRESTLEMANIA!”

Startled by the outburst, and forgetting their conversation, Marianne flinched and stared at the TV, where muscle-bound giants in flashy spandex where slamming each other to the mat before a _roaring_ crowd. 

“You _like_ WrestleMania?”

“Ye bet I do, doc!”  Bog replied, absorbed in the program.  “One o’ the best things I’ve seen come on this television since my mom brought it here!  Dorn’t tell me a Tough Girl like _you_ can’t get into it?”

That was a challenge Marianne would not allow to go unanswered, and she brushed the dusty records and box aside.  She’d done enough research today.

“Are you kidding?  Diesel’s gonna tear Shawn Michaels apart!” 

“Oh, ye are so on!”

Marianne lost herself to the raucous match and Bog’s playful heckling, until Griselda shouted at them to come to the dining room.  It likely wouldn’t hit her until 3am just how _significant_ their dismissive talk about love had been, scatterbrain that she was. 

* * *

When Dawn opened the door, she was definitely _not_ expecting to see Nathan standing on her front stoop, but lo and behold, there he was.  In all his hottie glory. 

Holy cow, he was so cute it had to be _illegal_!

“Nathan!”  She exclaimed.  “Wh-what are you do-, I-I mean...hi.”

_Oh my God, I am SO out of practice at talking to boys!  I sound like a total idiot!_

Nathan’s friendly smirk, pinched in hesitation at the awkward pause. 

“..Can I come in?”

“Uh, n-no!  No, it’s _m-much_ nicer out _here_ in the flesh-, FRESH...air.”  Dawn stammered stepping onto the porch and closing the door behind her.

Neither one saw the face peeking at them through the dusty window, at least not until Dawn walked past Nathan and looked back, finding Sunny’s head poking through the door frame. 

“Did you ask your sister about the party?”  Nathan asked, thankfully not seeming to be bothered by her weird behavior. 

Dawn’s eyes flicked nervously back and forth between the boys.  It was obvious that Sunny was distrustful of Nathan, considering the way he was frowning at his back. 

“Ah...n-not yet, but I’m pretty sure I can get her to say yes.”

To Dawn’s annoyance, Sunny phased through the door behind Nathan and somehow began to do a flawless, synchronized impression of him!

“Cool.  So, listen, if you’re not hooked up with anybody else,” Nathan continued, unaware of the display going on over his shoulder, “do you wanna, I don’t know...hang with me at the dance?”

As a crude joke, Sunny made a show of pretending to hang himself. 

At this point, Dawn was irritated by the intrusion and blatant rudeness, so without any hesitation whatsoever, she glared at Sunny for a half-second, and then gave Nathan her brightest smile.

“I’d love too.”

Sunny’s shocked and eventually hurt expression made a _huge_ part of her regret her actions, but she did _not_ appreciate him acting so childish, and he needed to know that that was not acceptable.  _That_ wasn’t the Sunny that spoke to her so kindly this morning, and sang and danced with her at school to cheer her up.

 _That_ wasn’t her _friend_.

Besides, he couldn’t go to the party anyway, so even if it was harsh, perhaps this was the best way to tell him; like ripping off a band aid.    

So why did she feel like _she_ was the one bleeding when a crestfallen Sunny vanished?

“Alright, cool!”  Nathan said, pleased that his invitation hadn’t been rejected.  “I’ll see ya later, Springfield.” 

Dawn mustered up enough gumption to give him a flirty wave as he hopped down the porch steps.  She then ran back inside the mansion, hoping that Sunny wasn’t too upset, or mad at her. 

What she didn’t know was that behind a broken statue in the yard, a smug Amber was patiently waiting for her future date with their bikes.

“Well, did you ask her?”

Nathan scowled.

“Yeah.” 

“And she actually _believed_ you?”  She snickered. 

“This really bites!”  The boy snapped, mounting his bike and pedaling off, not at all happy to be part of this stupid, petty scheme.

His friend sneered at Darkstaff before murmuring to herself:

“No, it’s absolutely _perfect_.”   

With that, she rode after her friend formulating more of her plan to put Little Miss _Sunrise_ in her place.  Nobody messed with Amber Whitmire.  Especially some prissy loser from Santa Fe who thought she could make eyes at _her_ boyfriend, steal her party, and get away with it.  She was gonna regret _ever_ moving to Friendship, Maine.   


	12. Chapter 12

Dawn only had a history chapter to read for homework, but she was so concerned about Sunny, she could hardly focus on a single sentence.  He’d disappeared inside the manor, and she hadn’t been able to find him.  It was a welcome relief when Griselda called her from her miserably empty room down to dinner. 

The grand dining room was spacious and lofty, with a dark table of solid oak under a Queen Anne chandelier, burgundy drapes flanking the tall windows on the left, and an enormous, marble fireplace that had probably seen better days.  Over the mantle, was a gilt painting of Friendship’s harbor, circa 1920.

Marianne and Bog almost had to be dragged away from the TV, and they were having an animated discussion about wrestling moves and past matches, action films, and even swordplay; all things Dawn had zero interest in, and she had to admit, it was very odd seeing them so absorbed in each other, when they’d been fighting like a cat and a dog only last night _and_ this morning. 

But still, it was nice to see her sister so lively again.  Weird, but nice. 

The conversation only ended when Griselda ordered Bog to take his meal in the kitchen.  He vehemently protested, of course, but was firmly shot down.

“Don’t give me that, Bog!  You know good and well that you eat out of _habit_ , not necessity, and I will _not_ have you grossing out our guests with your disgusting table manners!  Nobody wants to see your visible and accelerated digestion, thank you.  Now march yourself outta here, mister!  On the double!”

Bog grumbled all the way down the hall and even Marianne seemed a bit disappointed that their talk was over, for the time being.  Dawn was just grateful that her appetite wasn’t going to be ruined a second time.  Griselda’s beef stew smelled amazing, and she'd hate for it to go to waste!

Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to really enjoy the delicious taste, thoroughly.  She was too worried about Sunny.  He hadn’t made an appearance for supper, nor did she think he was in the kitchen.  At least, she couldn’t _hear_ him over the distant sound of Bog scarfing down his food like a caveman. 

Plus, she was getting more and more anxious about asking Marianne her _super_ important question. 

When her sister finished her stew, and reached a break in her idle chat with Griselda, Dawn bit her lip and took the plunge.

“Um, M-Marianne?” She stammered. “About that th-thing I wanted to ask you?”

The doctor shifted in her seat, giving the teen her undivided attention.

“Sure, Dawn.  What’s on your mind?”

“W-well, you see.......there’s an asbestos removal going on in the gym, so the school can’t hold the Halloween dance there.”

“Mm-hmm...?”

“And I was...wondering......i-if.........ifwecouldhavethepartyhereinstead!”

Marianne coughed on her sip of iced raspberry tea.

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

“Could we have the party _here_ instead?”  Dawn sheepishly repeated.

Her sister gawked at her in utter disbelief and Dawn tried not to squirm.

“Let me get this straight,” Marianne said, folding her hands, “you go to school for _one_ day, and now you’re already planning a _party_?”

“It...wasn’t exactly _my_ idea...”

Dr. Springfield skeptically pursed her lips.

“How so?”

“When I introduced myself in class, and everybody found out that we were living in Darkstaff, they just sort of...volunteered it to be the place we have the dance!”

“And you told them it was _okay_?!”

“ _No_ , I said I’d have to ask _you_ for permission first!”

Groaning, the brunette rubbed her temples.

“Dawn, I am here to _work_ , not play babysitter to you and your friends!  You _know_ I don’t have the time or even the extra _money_ to fund a-!”

“You don’t have to host!  _I_ can do it myself!  And there’ll be teachers there, so you won’t need to chaperone!”

“We _still_ can’t afford-!”

“And you don’t even have to buy _anything_!” 

Marianne shot her a suspicious look.

“I-I can ask everyone to bring their own refreshments, and we don’t need decorations because the house is... _perfect_ for the theme just the way it is!  Don’t you think?”

She watched as her sister debated with herself for a minute.

“I don’t know, Dawn...”

“Please, Marianne?  _Please_?”  Dawn pleaded.  “Everybody at school is _really_ excited about this, and it’d be an awesome way for me to make a lot of friends!”

Her sister still seemed hesitant.

“Aw, let her have the dance here!”  Griselda cut in.  “You’re only young once, dear.  And _I_ can be here to make some snacks, and keep an eye on things.”      

The doctor seemed to be a bit more at ease with the offer, but she drummed her fingers in thought before appearing to come to a decision. 

“I’ll tell you what, you can have the party here, on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to ask Bog.”

Dawn’s blood turned to ice, and she gaped at her sister like she sprouted horns.

“You’ve gotta be _kidding_ me!”

“I’m completely serious.”

“ _Why_?”

“One: because I said so, two: because we’re definitely _not_ asking _Roland_ , and three: this is more _his_ and Griselda’s house than mine, and if she’s okay with it, you have to make sure Bog is too.”

“But he’ll ruin it!”  Dawn complained.  “He’ll scare everyone away!  There’s no _way_ I can ask _him_!  He’ll never say yes!  And if he does, it’ll be just so he can terrify my friends!”

Marianne frowned at her.

“Dawn, if we ever expect Bog to make any progress, we have to be willing to put a little _faith_ in him.  So, you either _ask_ him, or the answer is _no_ , and that’s _final_.”

The teenager wanted to be angry; furious even...

...but she was a smart girl.

She knew her older sister was ultimately right. 

.

.

.

Didn’t mean she had to like it, though.

“...He freaks me out.”  She admitted quietly

“Oh, _honey_!”  Griselda comforted.  “There’s nothing to be afraid of!  My son _is_ a grouch, but he won’t _hurt_ you.  Just be yourself, dear.  You’ll win him over.  You’re so friendly and sweet, he won’t stand a chance any more than Sunny did!  Trust me, deep down, he’s a giant teddy bear!”

At the mention of Sunny, Dawn was _positive_ she couldn’t eat another bite.  So, she excused herself and decided she’d approach Bog on the subject tomorrow. 

But _how_?

“That was very considerate of you, dear.”  Griselda commented when Dawn had left them.  “Leaving it up to Bog.”

Marianne fingered her napkin.

“At this point, Bog is still very possessive of Darkstaff, and if I make him feel like he doesn’t have _any_ power or say in what goes on under this roof, if _I_ don’t _respect_ him, why should _he_ respect me, my sister, or anyone else?”

Griselda nodded.  

“Why, indeed.”

Suddenly humming David Bowie’s ‘ _Rebel, Rebel_ ’ to herself, Marianne gathered her dirty dishes and walked off in the direction of the kitchen in search of her patient, while the endearingly smiling caretaker stared after her. 

* * *

Upstairs, with still no Sunny in sight, Dawn opted to distract herself with making a gift for Bog; a kind of peace offering.  She was certain she had some materials left over from her arts and crafts class when they lived in Ohio for a few months last year. 

Digging through the boxes in her closet, she found scissors, a mini hot glue gun, and some white, green, and orange felt swatches.  She sat down at the vanity, and turned the fabric over in her hands until an idea came, and she picked up her scissors and plugged in the glue gun.  Slowly and carefully, she cut the strips into the appropriate shapes she wanted.  Once she was finished, she glued the pieces together and let it sit to dry. 

It...wasn’t her most _handsome_ creation, but it was the best she could do with what she had.  She just hoped Bog would accept it.    

With nothing more to do, Dawn gazed into the mirror and combed her fingers through her corn-silk hair, thinking of Nathan, what they’d do at the dance, and what she would wear.

She was so wrapped up in her suppositions and wonderings, that as she opened her musical jewelry box to change her earrings, the sudden voice startled her. 

“Hey!” 

Looking down in alarm, she saw that it was Sunny, and that he’d shrunk himself to the height of a Q-tip.  He was dancing with the spinning ballerina figurine in the center of her jewelry box.

“You already know _I’m_ a good dancer!”  He sated innocently, and though Dawn was glad he was back and apparently not angry nor upset with her, she _knew_ what he was up to, and it made her feel terrible.

Unable to face his bright, cheerful eyes, she stood up and crossed the room to her dresser, but when she pulled out the top drawer, his face was blinking up at her from one of her Oxford blouses. 

“I don’t need a costume!”   

She shut the drawer and moved to the closet, only to find him there with his head like a balloon and surrounded by a colorful bunch.

“I’m always the life of the party!”

“Sunny, listen,” Dawn sighed, striding back over to sit at the vanity, “I know you wanna go...”

“Come on, we’d have a _great_ time together!”  Sunny insisted, flying to her.

“Look, even assuming that no one would recognize you as a ghost, it being a Halloween dance and all, it doesn’t change the fact that I _have_ a date!”

Sunny’s shrug was casual.

“What’s this Nathan guy got that _I_ don’t, huh?”

“...A pulse?”

Her friend waved his hand dismissively.

“Ah, big deal.” 

“A tan.”

“Do you know how bad that is for your skin?”

Glancing at the mirror, Dawn wrung her hands, but concluded with:

“How about a reflection?”

Sunny paused and cautiously checked the glass behind him.  Nothing but the bedroom greeted him. 

Dawn wished things were different.  She couldn’t stand seeing him so forlorn, but it was masked with humor in a beat.

“Alright, alright.”  He conceded.  “But can he...’show you the world’, like Aladdin?”

“ _What_?”

Without any further explanation, Sunny seized Dawn by the wrist and hoisted her into his arms.

“Sunny!”  The girl cried, confused at what had gotten into him, but she soon noticed that he was heading straight for her balcony doors, which automatically blew open in the wind.

“Oh, no!”  She gasped, struggling in his hold.  “Sunny, no!  Don’t!  No, no, no, _no_!”

He didn’t listen, and immediately, they were soaring far above the ground.  Dawn squeaked in terror at the nauseating rush of vertigo, and hid her face in Sunny’s chilly neck.

“Sunny, oh my God!”  The teen whimpered, muscled locked.  “High!  This is very high!  Sunny, please-!”

“ _Dawn_.” 

The smooth, calm voice in her ear thrummed all the way through her chest, and she froze.

“It’s _okay_ , Dawn.”  He softly assured her.  “I’ve _got_ you, I _promise_.  I _won’t_ let you fall.”

Words could not describe the warmth and security that spread over Dawn’s body in that moment.  Every inch of her was tingling, and she clung to him firmly, but no longer in panic as he flew them away from the dreary Darkstaff and into the crisp, autumn night.  

* * *

Sunny’s destination had been the lighthouse at the other end of the bay.  He always went there to be alone with his thoughts, and under a full moon, it was the most enchanting spot in Friendship.  Maybe even all of Maine! 

He just _had_ to share it with her.

Together, they sat on the flat lip of the roof and watched the churning waves, crowned with the scattered diamonds of the reflected, silvery moonbeams pouring forth from the vast and cloudy black sky.  The midnight blue color of the mighty ocean was only disrupted by the rhythmic, pale ray of the lighthouse lantern, stretching its arm over the sea to safely guide any wayward ships into the harbor’s bosom. 

“Sunny, this is _beautiful_.”  Dawn breathed in awe. 

She’d been speechless for nearly ten whole minutes when they landed, and Sunny was overjoyed to have brought her such visual pleasure.  If only she knew how it _paled_ in comparison to her _self_. 

“I come here every night.”  He said, not meaning to sound glum, but he caught her stricken expression out of the corner of his eye.

“...Alone?”

“Yeah...”

“Sunny?  ...What were you like when you were alive?”

He wanted to tell her, if only he knew, for it was a question he’d asked himself a thousand times.  But no matter how he furrowed his brow and forced himself to concentrate, it was all a blank.

“I don’t remember.” 

He heard her barely audible gasp.

“You don’t remember _anything_ about your life?”

“No.”

“You don’t remember what school you went to?  How old you were?  You’re favorite game?”

Sunny shook his head.

“What about your dad?”  She asked, and there was a new watery tightness in her voice.  “Not even your mom?”

He faced her, hating the fact that he’d inadvertently put tears in her periwinkle eyes.  She’d lost her parents, too.  Her empathy was great, but even more so by the thought of such a precious and significant memory being lost forever. 

“Is that...bad?”

“No.” Dawn gulped, fighting back a sniffle.  “It’s just....... _sad_.” 

A lone, crystal tear escaped, but Sunny gently brushed it away.  He couldn’t bear her crying for his sake.  

* * *

After an hour, the rapidly dropping temperature demanded that it was time to return home.   Dawn lit a few candles and laid in her bed, gazing pensively at the picture of her mom and dad as Sunny floated nest her. 

“...I wonder _why_ you don’t remember anything.”

“Hmm, I guess ‘cause...when you’re a ghost, life doesn’t matter that much anymore.”  Sunny speculated.  “So, you forget.”

“Sometimes......I worry that _I’m_ trying to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“My parents.”  She murmured, staring at the ceiling, but not seeing its sanded ridges; only visions of the past.  “Just certain things......the sound of dad making breakfast downstairs......the way mom put on her lipstick......”

Sunny wanted to hold her, to ease the pain of her grief however he could, but he kept his hands to himself.   

“I do remember,” she went on, “that they both always used ivory soap...and when they’d hug me, I’d breathe them in so deep.  And I remember...before I’d go to sleep......they’d tuck me in and say:  ‘Stardust in the eyes, rosy cheeks, and a happy girl in the morning.’”

The dreamy nostalgia on her face melted into doubt. 

“...Sunny?”

“Yes?”

“If...my parents _are_ ghosts......did they...f-forget about me?”

“ _No_.  They’d never forget you.”

And Sunny meant it.  He couldn’t believe it; he _wouldn’t_. 

_How could anybody forget someone as wonderful as you?_

Impossible.

Dawn’s eyes were beginning to droop with fatigue, and she snuggled deeper into the blankets. 

“Dawn?”

“Mm?”

Perhaps it was selfish, but...he had to know. 

“If I were...... _alive_...would you go to the Halloween dance with me?”

“Uh-huh...”

Overwhelmed by devotion and bittersweet joy, Sunny drifted closer.

“Dawn?”

“Mm...”

“Can I keep you?”

“Mm......hmm...”

He then pressed a tenderly chaste kiss to the swell of her cheek.

She shivered, on the brink of slumber. 

“Sunny......close the...window......it’s cold...”

Smirking to himself half in humor, for the window was already closed, and half in self-reproach for disturbing her, he retreated to lay across the foot of the bed.  Ghosts couldn’t sleep, but old habits die hard.  He would stay with her, on guard for nightmares and whatever else might dare to bother her rest, and he’d be there in the morning, in place of her mom and dad.    

A silly party didn’t matter.  She liked him, but there couldn’t be more because...he was dead.  He’d make peace with that.  It was foolish to have tried to act as if they’d be...normal together.  But her companionship was enough.  She came and befriended him, and he prayed that wouldn’t end.

Ever.

_Please, Dawn...don’t ever go away.  All I want is to be with you._


	13. Chapter 13

The next morning, after finding Sunny sitting at her vanity and leisurely reading her copy of _Persuasion_ , Dawn explained her intention to speak to Bog about the dance.  Her friend looked nonplussed and more than a bit worried, but informed her that he would wait for her on the front porch when she was finished and ready to head to school.

Grabbing her present and hurrying down the winding stairs to the atrium, Dawn met her sister just as she was coming out of the library and brushing dust off of her arms.

“Hey, Marianne.”  She greeted quietly.  “...Do you know where Bog is?”

“Yeah, I believe he’s in the kitchen.  You _sure_ you wanna do this?”

Dawn glared at her.

“ _No_ ,” she grumbled, “but you won’t let me have the party any other _way_!  So what _choice_ do I have?”

Marianne ruffled her sister’s hair, much to her chagrin, and the girls walked to the kitchen together, where they found Bog.  Prone and floating several feet above the table with his hands lazily folded under his head and a newspaper suspended over his hooked nose.

“Monin’, doc.”  He casually said, and without looking over as the sisters entered the room.

“Good morning, Bog.”  Marianne politely replied, crossing to the coffee pot.  “May I have the sports section, please?” 

Bog clicked his tongue.

“When I’m _done_ with it.  In the meantime, here are the funnies; I thought Garfield was pretty good today.” 

He tossed the appropriate page in Marianne’s direction, and Dawn gaped as it came alive!  It folded and fluttered like a bird, right into her sister’s outstretched hand. 

“Thank you.”  Marianne smiled and spread the paper open as he sipped her cup of pure black caffeine.

She laughed softly after reading the aforementioned strip, and Dawn was _positive_ she saw Bog smirk, obviously pleased with himself!

A silence befell them all, but Dawn stared suspiciously at the other two, thinking that she’d never seen anyone but her parents act so... _homey_.  And how did he already know that Marianne’s favorite comic was Garfield?

But her questioning observation was interrupted when Marianne’s eyes met hers, and she squirmed when her sister tilted her head towards Bog, in a gesture for her to go ahead. 

Taking a deep breath and focusing all of her willpower on _not_ trembling like an autumn leaf in the wind, Dawn hesitantly approached the table.

“Um......M-Mister Bog, s-s-sir?”  She stammered.

Bog automatically turned his head at her timid voice.  His expression was mostly indifferent, but there was a hint of mild confusion and curiosity; almost as if he either didn’t realize she was there, or thought he’d misheard her, but her blatant and anxious attention certainly dispelled that second theory, if nothing else.

Dropping the newspaper, he smoothly and slowly drifted to her and came to a stop a mere foot from her face.

“ _Yes_..?”  He drew out, baring his jagged teeth. 

Whether or not he _was_ trying to intimidate her, Dawn couldn’t tell, but she swallowed the ball in her throat all the same and pushed on.

“I-I have...something......I need to ask you.”

He quirked a brow and circled her like a vulture. 

“See, m-my school wants to throw a Halloween dance,” she nervously explained, “b-but the gym is having asbestos removal.”

“And I care about this _why_?”

“Because......because I was wondering if I could hold the party here, at Darkstaff...if it’s okay with you?”

The poltergeist stilled, but to Dawn’s dismay, his astonishment was only momentary, for it melted into an eager and mischievous grin. 

“Ye want to invite a bunch o’ young _kids_ into _my_ house?  Sure, that’ll be _fun_!”

Dawn paled at the hungry implication in his tone and Marianne set down her mug, watching carefully.

“No, no!  I don’t _want_ you to _scare_ them!  It’s very important that everybody has a good time at the dance!”

“Oh, I’ll show ‘em a good time alright!”

“ _Please_ , Mister Bog!”  The teenager begged, forgetting all about being afraid and stepping closer so abruptly, she startled him into rearing back.  “I asked you because it’s _your_ house, but this party means _so_ much to me!  Promise you won’t ruin it!  _Pretty_ please?”  

Bog was frozen in shock, and completely at the mercy of those wide, shimmering blue eyes, pleading with him like a lost kitten in the rain.  An unfamiliar feeling twisted inside him.  Something like...

... _guilt_?

_What the hell is wrong with me?!  Why should I give a damn about what a silly child wants?_

But she was so innocent and desperate!  _Anyone_ would be a bastard to disappoint her, _especially_ out of spite. 

Plus, when the image of Marianne glowering at him in disapproval came unbidden to his mind, for some reason, _that_ bothered him more than anything else.

“I......I won’t ruin it.”

Dawn blinked at him, daring to hope.

“You _won’t_?”

“N-no.”

“You promise?”

“Yes...I p-promise.”   

Then something happened that Bog _really_ hadn’t expected.  He didn’t know which was worse, her beseeching eyes, or her blinding, happy grin that seemed to fill the whole kitchen with pure sunlight.  Either way, he shrank from her, unused to such unbridled joy.  Not to mention being both the cause, _and_ on the receiving end of it. 

Hardly believing her success, Dawn squealed long and loud, jumping up and down and clapping her hands in excitement, and making Bog wince.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!  Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!  You’re the _best_ , Mister Bog!”

“Yeah, yeah.  Alright, ye crazy creature; there’s no need to get hysterical! Dorn’t ye have school to get to?”

Dawn calmed down with a giggle, but instead of leaving, she shyly nibbled her lip. 

“Well, first......I’ve got something for you.”

The ghost gave her a perplexed frown.

“What?”

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands!”

“Why?”

“Just do it!  It’s a _surprise_!”

Bog sighed harshly, but complied.

Marianne chuckled at the scene.  Dawn had a remarkable way of wrapping people around her little finger, and to see the terrifying, grouchy spirit succumb, was just _too_ adorable.  Not even twenty-four hours since his therapy began, and he was making beyond excellent progress!  She’d have him crossing over before he knew it.

The thought was meant to be triumphant and comforting, yet all it brought was a strange and unpleasant clench in her chest.   

She’d need to examine the reaction later, for Marianne was distracted by Dawn fishing out a cloth item from her pocket and placing it into Bog’s waiting palms.

Opening his eyes, Bog saw that what she’d given him was a...flower of some sort, cut from strips of green, orange, and white fabric.  The green felt made the leaves, the orange formed some accent petals around the white piece, which was a tiny blossom in the center.  It was......well, honestly, _hideous_ , but Bog was too stunned to speak.  He’d never been given a gift before.  At least, not that he could remember.

“I made it special for you.”

“Fer... _me_?”

“I hope you like it.”

Bog didn’t know what to say, other than...

“...Uh......thank ye,” he mumbled, oddly embarrassed, “it’s, ah......it’s...l-lovely.”

Dawn squeaked and Bog flinched, worried that she might try to hug him, but thankfully she didn’t.

“You’re welcome!”  She beamed and spun on her heel for the door, calling over her shoulder:  “Thank _you_ for letting me have the dance here!  You’re the nicest guy _ever_ , Boggy!”

Bog spluttered and shouted after her:

“It’s _BOG_!  And I am _NOT_!!!”   

The tinkling sound of Marianne’s laughter made him turn around and scowl, but she held up her hands in defense. 

“Trust me, it’s useless to resist; she was always the princess in the family.  But I think that was very kind, Bog.  I’m proud of you.”

“...Ye are?”

“Absolutely.”

The admission was simple, yet it kept Bog rooted to the spot, and an impossible warmth poured through his incorporeal body at the sight of her tender smile which, unlike Dawn’s, was not unsettlingly overwhelming, but rather soothing and...even a _tad_ pleasurable.  Ironic, considering their contrasting eye-color.

Regardless, Bog relaxed and genuinely smiled in return. 

“So...what’s on the agenda today, Tough Girl?”

Marianne suddenly found the hem of her blouse to be quite interesting, and fidgeted with it as she answered:

“Er, I...I’ve got some more boxes and books to look through in the library, and your mother will be here later this afternoon to help out some more.  We can talk about whatever you want while I look around for things to jog your memory.”

Satisfied, Bog nodded.

“Then lead the way, doc.”   

“...You can call me Marianne...if you’d like.”

“Oh?  Okay...... _Marianne_.”

Forcing down a gasp at the frankly _tantalizing_ way his accent inadvertently caressed the syllables of her name, Marianne ducked her head and shuffled from the kitchen to the library without another word, her patient following behind her.  

* * *

Outside, Sunny had nearly shrieked when Dawn came barreling onto the porch, but once she caught her breath and told him the good news, he was heartily congratulated her, even if he was secretly floored that her meeting with his uncle Bog had gone so well. 

As for Dawn, she was ecstatically whooping and hollering with Sunny zipping around her, sharing in her glee.  The party was on!  She’d make her mark at the school, and with Bog’s agreement to stay scarce, everyone having a blast was guaranteed!  Already, she was planning far ahead to how she was going to demand that Marianne let them settle in Friendship, Maine!  It would be _perfect_ after all was said and done! 

Things were finally looking up and she was a huge step closer to have a normal life again!

“Oh, I’m so _happy_!”  The blonde gushed as they entered the woods, which seemed more inviting nor than they’d ever been before.  “I-!  I just wanna SING!” 

Sunny gasped in anticipation, and was soon rewarded with Dawn’s melodious voice ringing through the cool air. 

 _Oh, I wanna dance with somebody~_  
_I wanna feel the heat with somebody~_  
_Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody~_  
_With somebody who loves me~_

She skipped along the path as she sang her heart out, and seeing her radiate such awe-inspiring euphoria and beauty, Sunny didn’t have a _prayer_ of withstanding the whim to grab her hand and twirl her under his arm like a ballerina beneath the cheerful fall shades of the forest trees.   

 _Oh, I wanna dance with somebody~_  
_I wanna feel the heat with somebody~_  
_Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody~_  
_With somebody who loves me~_

 _If only you knew, Dawn._ Sunny mused, as he released her and vanished when they reached the main road.  _If only you knew._

* * *

“Did ye know that in the eye of a storm, the weather is actually calm?”  Bog asked, juggling three pens.

“Really?  No, I didn’t!”

“It’s true!  I flew into the center of Hurricane Betsy in 1965, just to see what it was like.  It was so serene, at first I thought I went the wrong way!”

“Ha, that’s very interesting, Bog.”

As Marianne dug through her fresh pile of documents and ledgers, she’d been enjoying listening to Bog regale her with tales of his various exploits across the U.S. whenever he’d occasionally get bored with Darkstaff and decide to travel.  He had seen and experienced quite a lot in the fifty years since his death.    

And it made her wonder... 

“Hey, besides Sunny, have you ever met... _other_ ghosts?”

Bog shrugged nonchalantly and set the pens back on the desk.

“Sure, I run into them from time to time.  When they’re not wet blankets like my nephew, they can be pretty entertainin’.”

“I’ve _also_ been meaning to ask you about that.  What exactly is your problem with Sunny?  Why don’t you get along with him?”

“Because he came into my mansion once and never _left_!”

“Are you saying he died here, too?  ‘Cause if that’s the case, then you of all people should know that that isn’t his fault.”

“Hmph!”

“What can you tell me about his life?”

“Not much.  He wasn’t here for more than a handful o’ months in the early seventies.  He had a dad who was a......an engineer, if I remember correctly.  He died not long after Sunny, but he must’ve crossed over immediately, since he never reappeared.

“...He isn’t your _actual_ nephew, is he?”  Marianne deduced. 

“No.”

“So, why does he call you that?”

“Ah, it was some joke between him and his dad for a while.  My hauntings were relatively minor back in those days, and they were so annoyingly jolly all the time, whenever they’d see or hear weird stuff, they’d just say it was ‘ol’ uncle Bog messing around’.  I guess it stuck afterwards, I dorn’t know.”

“When you become a ghost, are you instantly tied to the place where you passed away?”

_Please, say no!  I’d hate to imagine my parents are trapped in our sold Albany house!_

“Not necessarily; I’ve met plenty that could roam freely.  I suppose that’s ‘cause they croaked out in the open, or just didn’t have any emotional attachment to where they originally came from.  But it is more common to find them hanging around homes.”

“Why is that?”

“Homes are like hubs of living energy from all the people and memories that have passed through it, and spirits are naturally drawn to the current; like moths to a beacon.  I’ve had to chase away spectral invaders before.”

Filing away the load of information for later perusal, Marianne revisited the subject of her parents. 

“...Did you......recently ever meet anyone named David and Kristen Springfield?”

King shook his head. 

“Sorry, Tough Girl.”

Marianne pursed her lips and tried again. 

“Bog, do you know if it could it be feasible to...summon them here?”

Cobalt and butterscotch eyes clashed.

“......I dorn’t see why not.  If it’s done properly.”

“How is it done _properly_?”

Bog huffed and retreated to the chair, opposite the couch.

“Ye’d have to ask my mother.  She likes to read about the occult in her spare time, and is always-”

Looking to see what had cut him off, Marianne discovered Bog staring hard at the picture she’d left on her seat yesterday.  He was tense and disturbingly motionless. 

“What is it, Bog?”

He didn’t respond.

“ _Bog_?”  She urgently repeated, coming to his side.

“...That......that _brooch_...an’ that...woman...”

Marianne followed the line of Bog’s pointing finger and saw that he was referring to the primrose brooch that was pinned to her mother’s lapel.

“Yes, what about it?” 

Before he could tell her, it abruptly dawned on Marianne just _where_ her mom had gotten that brooch.  From her grandma! 

The same grandma that apparently used to work for King Fish co _and_ live at Darkstaff!  How could she have forgotten?!

“Is it familiar, Bog?”

His nod was stiff.

“How do you _feel_ about it?”

“I...I feel......I feel...angry...”

Surprised, the brunette paused.  Why would he feel such a negative emotion towards her grandmother?

“...angry......and... _resentful_.  I...dorn’t like her.”

“Why not?”

“She......she l-looks...like...”

“Like who, Bog?”

“I......can’t remember.”

Marianne gazed at Bog, trying to make sense of it all.  She had clearly stumbled upon something _big_.  Perhaps it would be essential in her mission to solve the mystery of Bog’s unfinished business, but she had to speak to Griselda first and figure out what she knew of her son’s relationship with his former employee.  The idea of summoning her parents would have to be put on hold, for now. 

Then there was also the matter of Marianne’s realization late last night, when she’d randomly recalled her anti-love conversation with Bog.  She still cursed herself for not catching its probable significance much, _much_ sooner. 

Could that be the reason, even partially, behind his being stuck in limbo?  A broken heart was capable of having a tremendous, lasting effect on a person, she knew that firsthand.  And what if there was a connection between that, and her grandmother?      

What had happened between Alexander Bogerton King and the late Aura Plum?


	14. Chapter 14

When Griselda arrived later that afternoon, Marianne privately cornered her in the living room, where she was just starting to dust.  It had been explained at one point during dinner last night, that due to her age, Mrs. King was really only able to manage light cleaning duties around the mansion and most of the upstairs rooms had been closed off; she hadn’t even been on the third floor in years!

“Do remember anyone by the name of Aura Plum, Griselda?  She worked for your company from 1939 to 1942.”

The caretaker chewed her lip as she wiped the base of a rose-patterned hurricane lamp. 

“Aura...Plum......Aura Plum...sounds familiar...”

Marianne fished out the photograph she’d found in the family photo album stashed in one of her suitcases, and showed it to her. 

Her pulse skipped when she saw Griselda’s eyes light up in recognition.

“Oh, _yes_!  I knew _her_!  And that primrose brooch!  She wore it every day!”

“She’s my grandmother.”

“ _Really_?  What a small world!” 

“That brooch was a gift from my grandpa.  He was British; and an RAF pilot.  My grandma had been studying overseas when they met, and she’d been living with him in England for the first few years they were married.  When the war began, he sent her over here to be safe, and I suppose this is where she settled first.  What do you know about her?”

Griselda fiddled with the rag, brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to recall anything useful from decades long past. 

“She was...a very nice young lady.  A tad eccentric for my taste, but very clever and well-mannered.  We hired her...seven years after my husband died.  She was a chemist, you see, and she came to us with a special sort of preservative that kept meat _incredibly_ fresh for _days_ , even without the _ice_!  We snatched her up in a jiffy and made more money than ever before.  She was also so outgoing and determined, we let her handle our advertising, too.”

 _So far so good._  Marianne thought.  _Now, for the awkward part..._

“W-what was...her re-relationship with......Bog?”

The older woman caught the uncomfortable note in her tone.

“...What do you mean, dear?”

“I have a hunch, from a conversation Bog and I had yesterday, that his unfinished business _may_ have something to do with love, or more specifically, getting his heart broken.  He saw a picture of my mother wearing that brooch and he had a reaction.  He said he felt angry and resentful toward her.  Obviously, he never met my _mom_ , but he _did_ know my grandma, so...I’m wondering if she had something to do with...what led to his drinking.  Did you ever notice if anything... _extra_ was going on between them?”  

Marianne prayed the answer was no, and even if it meant a dead end, she was quite relieved when Griselda frowned and shook her head firmly.   

“No, dear.  I don’t believe that was ever the case.  We all knew she was married, and Bog was a fine, upstanding man who would never mess around with another man’s wife or girlfriend.  Heck, he was too shy to even mess around with the single ladies!  Plus...no offense, dear......but he considered your grandmother to be...well......pretty annoying.  He could only stand her in _very_ small doses.” 

The brunette couldn’t blame him.  From what little she could remember about her grandma, the woman was loud and featherbrained enough to grate on anyone’s nerves.  Her mom had the same energy and fun-loving attitude, but had thankfully inherited a decent amount of her father’s restraint.    

But if Bog hadn’t been in love with Aura and gotten rejected...then what exactly _did_ happen?  And how was her grandmother involved?  Surely a mild irritation with someone he only briefly knew couldn’t be strong enough to survive the veil of life and death, and trigger a sensory memory just from seeing an image with only a _slight_ resemblance?  It wasn’t plausible. 

There had to be more to this story.

“I will say this...” Griselda went on, staring pensively off into space, “...now I can’t be...one-hundred percent certain, but......I could’ve sworn that...the day Bog started drinking...was the same day he fired Aura.”

!!!

“You think so?”

“...Yeah......we had a...party the night before, to celebrate the anniversary of King Fish co’s founding.  Bog went to bed early, and......he seemed awfully upset, but all he would tell me was that it was just a headache.  And then the next morning...I heard shouting downstairs, and by the time I got there......he was demanding that Aura leave his house immediately.  He was so furious, he didn’t even give her time to pack her things.  He practically threw her out on her ear without any explanation whatsoever.  Then he...w-went to the liquor cabinet and......well, you know the rest...”

As Griselda spoke, the wheels in Marianne’s mind spun faster and faster.  This _couldn’t_ be a coincidence!  Bog evidentially blamed her grandma for whatever drove him to alcoholism!

.

.

.

But how would they find out what it was if neither he nor Griselda knew just what had occurred that fateful night? 

Then, an idea hit her like a punch in the stomach. 

“Wait a minute!  Roland said that my grandmother used to live here while she was working for you, and _you_ said Bog didn’t let her pack her things before she went away.  If her stuff is still here, maybe we can still find a clue!  Maybe she kept a diary or a journal!  Which room was hers?”

Already, Marianne was moving toward the doors to the atrium.

“Lord, I don’t know, dear!”  Griselda cried, halting the doctor in her tracks.  “We had so many employees lodge with us from time to time, it could be any _one_ of ‘em!”

“Then we’ll have to start searching through them, immediately.”

“Oh but, dear, that could take _weeks_!  There’s no telling how much junk has been stored in those rooms over the years.  And it’ll take me a couple of days to find the keys for the ones that’ve been locked up; my apartment’s a mess!”

“I know it’s going to be a serious challenge, Griselda.”  Marianne soothed, patting her arm.  “But we have to do it, for Bog’s sake.”

The two women gazed at each other, both filled with strong emotion for the ghost in question, but for faintly different reasons. 

“You look for those keys,” Marianne finally instructed, “and first thing tomorrow morning, I’ll tackle the second floor.”    

* * *

For the next handful of weeks, Marianne busied herself with rummaging through bedroom after dusty bedroom in pursuit of her grandma’s unwillingly abandoned belongings.  It ended up taking Griselda five days to find the keys she’d mentioned, after she’d torn her condo apart, only to remember that they weren’t there at all, but in a safety deposit box, she’d gotten ages ago. 

Marianne had never been more spot on when she claimed that this was going to be a ‘serious challenge’.  From her initial count, her educated guess was that Darkstaff had at least _thirty_ goddamn bedrooms, and half of them were piled high with boxes and antique furniture.  She would’ve loved to get her hands on some of the pieces and polish them to their former glory.  With Roland, their only destination would be the dumpster, since he wasn’t smart nor patient enough to sell them.  If it was older than five years, it was trash in his mind.  What a fucking idiot. 

She continued to hold her discussions with Bog, and he even helped her with her hunt, though she’d decided _against_ telling him about her theory behind _why_ she was rummaging through all this storage for diaries.  Being so close to finding the truth, she wanted to have concrete evidence to present, not just a simple theory, the next time she broached the topic of his unfinished business.   And heck, for a while she thought that it’d be even _more_ ideal if there was a personal journal of _Bog’s_ hiding somewhere, but Griselda assured her that he’d never kept one. Rats.    

In the meantime, she learned more and more about Bog and what he liked; well, since he’d died, anyway.  Besides WrestleMania, he enjoyed a wide variety of TV programs, mostly action, mystery, and sci-fi.  They shared a similar preference in cartoons and fiction novels.  He enjoyed traveling, but he sometimes wished he could leave his house long enough to visit Europe, especially Scotland due to his accent and Griselda telling him that’s where his father’s side of the family originated. 

He’d even confessed that as much as she would drive him up the wall sometimes, he was secretly _very_ happy his mother had found him, and he worried about her health every day and about what would happen to her when......she was gone.   

In return, Marianne talked to him about her parents, and her cross-country spree to find them.  How she was concerned about failing in her mission, running low on finances, but most of all _Dawn_ , and how much stress she’d put on her at such a difficult age.  Was she a horrible big sister?  Was she a selfish bitch?  Was she a pathetic joke who needed to learn to let go?  Or all of the above?        

Bog chose the negative for all options.

“After all, ye brought her _here_ , an’ she found my nephew, didn’t she?  He seems to make her happy.”

“...I suppose you’ve got a point there; she _did_ find Sunny.”   

 _And I found_ you _._

Marianne dropped the pewter mug she’d been examining back into the box from whence it came at the shockingly giddy flutter in her chest that followed the unexpected mental whisper. 

“Ye okay, Tough Girl?”  Bog asked, noticing her startled move and expression.

She nodded and went back to digging, berating herself on not sleeping more.  Her brain was getting loopy!

Wanting to forget about the hiccup, she steered the conversation to music.  Again, Bog’s taste was varied.  He admitted to having a fondness for the jazz and swing music of the 20s, 30s, and 40s, which wasn’t surprising to Marianne, considering that was when he grew up, but same as her, he was also a _huge_ Elvis fan, and he admired the hard rock of the 70s and 80s. 

“It’s just so wild and rebellious!”  He exclaimed, playing air guitar on a bent umbrella.  “Whenever I hear it, it sounds like pure _freedom_!”

“I totally agree!”  Marianne laughed, before opening what appeared to be a thick briefcase.  “...And speaking of music, check this out!”

Instead of a briefcase, she’d discovered a Victrola, and behind it was a short stack of records. 

“Huh, _neat_.”  Bog commented, checking over her shoulder.  “It’s too bad we’ve _only_ got the classics here, but what the hell.  Wanna see if it still works?”   

Boy, did she!

Having never operated such a machine before, it took some prodding, but eventually, the popping, crackly tune filled the air, and Bog grinned.

“Ah, that’s a good choice.”

 _Blue moon~_  
_You saw me standing alone~_  
_Without a dream in my heart~_  
_Without a love of my own~_

The sleeve read: _‘Connee Boswell – 1935’_.  Marianne was unfamiliar with the singer, but she sounded pleasant enough, and the doctor found herself swaying with the slow melody.  Perhaps it was sappy, but this was a bit of history, so she reasoned that there was no shame in showing some respect.     
  
_Blue moon~_  
_You knew just what I was there for~_  
_You heard me saying a prayer for~_  
_Someone I really could care for~_

Her attention soon fell on Bog who was watching the Victrola and mouthing the words.  His expression was so soft and unguarded, she couldn’t help thinking how fitting the song was. 

 _His_ eyes _are blue moons._  
  
_And then there suddenly appeared before me~_  
_The only one my arms will hold~_  
_I heard somebody whisper please adore me~_  
_And when I looked to the moon it turned to gold~_

Without meaning to, Marianne’s own voice absentmindedly murmured along with Connee’s, growing stronger as the verse wore on, and she only realized it when Bog looked up at her.  
  
_Blue moon~_  
_Now I'm no longer alone~_  
_Without a dream in my heart~_  
_Without a love of my own~_

As the track faded to silence, Marianne, face flushing under Bog’s unreadable scrutiny, turned off the Victrola and put the record back in its original place. 

“Heh, ye sing as well as ye fight.”  Bog said, his brogue more tender than she’d ever heard. 

Her knees quaked and her skin tingled in a manner that she hadn’t experienced in a long, _long_ time. 

But before she could figure out just what that meant, Griselda came waddling into the room with a late lunch tray for her.  Bless the woman and her timing!

Tired and starving from yet another fruitless day of rooting through this and that, Marianne sat on the floor and practically inhaled her sandwich, celery stick, and bottle of beer.  When finished, she didn’t even have the strength nor inclination to rise, so she just laid back on the carpet and blinked up at the ceiling. 

With apparently nothing better to do, Bog randomly chose another record, switched on the Victrola, and joined her on the rug, lying opposite her form, but with his head to the left of her own.  In a few seconds, the harmonized croon of the Andrew Sisters drifted over them, accompanied by Bog, and Marianne gasped.

Of course, he couldn’t have known, but this had always been one of her parents’ romantic, oldie favorites. 

 _I'll be with you in apple blossom time~_  
_I'll be with you to change your name to mine~_  
_One day in May, I'll come and say~_

Marianne could’ve melted through the rug at the smooth, deep timbre of his voice.  It made her want to float away to the stars.  There was no resisting the urge to join him:

 _Happy the bride that the sun shines on today~_  
_What a wonderful wedding there will be~_  
_What a wonderful day for you and me~_

She had absolutely _no_ understanding as to _why_ she was doing this.  The lyrics alone would’ve been enough to make her rant and rave only an hour ago, but...

...with Bog it felt natural... 

...safe...

... _wonderful_...     

 _Church bells will chime~_  
_You will be mine~_  
_(When?)~_  
_In apple, in apple blossom time~_

At the abrupt finale, Marianne was consumed by an overpowering desire to turn her face in Bog’s direction and she fancied that the whole world stopped its rotation when she saw his gaze meeting hers.  The eldest Springfield was frozen, and drowning in the gentlest of oceans.  She’d completely lost control of her body, and the astonishing thrill it gave her was beyond addictive.  Hungry for more, she ever so slightly leaned forward, as he did. 

“MARIANNE!”

It was as if someone flooded the room with the Arctic Sea.  Marianne and Bog jumped apart like a pair of frightened cats at Dawn’s shout coming from the hallway.  For a moment, they just gaped at each other, clueless as to what to do or say.  All Marianne knew was that her heart was thumping, her breathing was erratic, and Bog seemed just as alarmed as she felt.

Then, as Dawn’s rapid footsteps approached, he vanished. 

“Marianne?  Oh, _there_ you are!”  Her sister said, stepping into the room.  “Hey, I got your Visa card!”

The brunette was too frazzled and distracted to respond with anything other than:

“...W-where was it?”

“Um, in your purse?  I was wondering if I could borrow it to buy a costume in town?”

Forcing herself to focus, Marianne eyed her sister in confusion. 

“You always _made_ your costume.”

“...No..... _mom_ did.”

“Oh......well, _I_ could come up with something pretty good for you.”  Marianne smirked playfully.  “Why don’t we just roll you in aluminum foil and you can go as a leftover?”    

Dawn didn’t see the humor and frowned at her, making her sister chuckle. 

“Don’t worry, you always look cute.”

“I don’t _wanna_ look _cute_!”  The teenager groaned.  “ _Cute_ is like when you’re nine years old and you have papier-mâché around your head.  I wanna look... _nice_.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Like...... _date_ nice.”   

An unsettling quake rolled in Marianne’s stomach, but currently, she was in _no_ shape to give her sister the cautionary speech about boys that she hadn’t needed to use in the last two years, thanks to all the moving. 

But she remembered what it was like to be seventeen, and would make an exception on the money, since it was for a special occasion. 

“Alright, you can take the card, but you have a $30 limit, and we will talk about this ‘date’ thing tonight, comprende?”

“Fine, fine!  Thank you!”

With that, her sister scampered off, and Marianne was quick to leave the room as well and march herself downstairs to the living room.  She wasn’t sure _what_ precisely was growing underneath her professional relationship with Bog, but whatever it was, it was dangerous and stupid, and hopefully some mindless television would prevent her from dwelling on the matter.      

 


	15. Chapter 15

“See, you just slip these straps on like a backpack and these ones on your wrists...... _Ta-da_!”

Dawn did a graceful twirl for Sunny as she modeled her purchase from the party shop.  She’d been disappointed to find that none of the complete costumes had really jumped out at her, but the only thing she saw that struck her fancy was a pair of coral, satin butterfly wings that you could put on like a sort of faux-cape.  They were soft, elegant, and marked down from fifteen bucks to ten, so she of _course_ snatched them up and a bottle of glitter to give them some extra flair later. 

“Wow, they’re so _shiny_!”  Sunny marveled.  “They’re great, Dawn!”

“Thanks, Sunny!”  Dawn said, admiring herself in the mirror and daintily flapping her arms to make the delicate fabric of her wings flutter.  “Now I just have to find a dress to go with them; they didn’t have anything I liked, and none of _my_ dresses have the... _look_ I think I’m going for.” 

“What’s that?”

“I’m leaning towards Fairy Princess, but I don’t think what I have left over from Marianne’s $30 limit will be enough to buy a new dress!  I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

Sunny wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gently nudged her. 

“You’ll figure something out, and you’ll look the most beautiful no matter what.”    

 Even if it was weird that she couldn’t see his face in her vanity, she blushed all the same at the tender purr in his voice when he complimented her.  She wished Nathan could be as charming. 

For the past few weeks, though he’d been as friendly as ever, he’d also been keeping his distance.  She guessed because he didn’t want to piss off Amber, who’d kept on being her nasty, snotty self.  Oh well, maybe he’d loosen up at the party.  Amber had made it abundantly clear in class (multiple times) that she would _not_ be attending the dance, so they’d finally have some privacy. 

Although, if she was being totally honest with herself......the best part about school lately had been her walks with Sunny to and from.  They talked, they sang, they joked.  Never in her life had she met anyone so optimistic and upbeat.  Unless you looked at him, you’d never guess he was a ghost in a million years.  The thought of going to the party without him was making the whole thing seem less and less appealing as each day went by.  Doubts plagued her conscience like ants at a picnic about every aspect of the encroaching event, but especially her date.

“What if he thinks I’m too perky?”  She suddenly fretted.  “Or dance funny?  Or my hair’s too poufy?”

“ _What_?”  Sunny laughed and lightly jostling her.  “Snap out of it.  ‘Don’t worry about a thing’, remember?  You’re gonna have a blast!  _Nothing_ is going to ruin your night, I _promise_.”

“Will you be there?”  Dawn asked with more emotion than she’d intended so she calmed herself before speaking again.  “Watching while you’re invisible?”

“...Only if you want me to.”

“......Please.”

Sunny released her and met her gaze with a gentle grin.

“Then I will.”

Teeny electric prickles sparked through Dawn’s veins and her heart swelled with the knowledge of how much he was willing to do for her; to put her happiness before his own.  No one other than her own family had treated her this way.

An invisible tug teased her chest.  The air grew warm around her, and all she could see were his kind, chocolate eyes.  Without realizing it, her mouth parted and she felt herself slowly drawing closer.

“Dawn!”  The voice of her sister bellowed from downstairs, making the pair flinch away from each other.  “Come on, Butterfly!  Time to eat!”

Startled and confused, Dawn bolted with a hastily squeaked apology and met Marianne in the dining room, where a hearty helping of spaghetti and meatballs was waiting for her.  Griselda wouldn’t be joining them this evening; apparently, it was Bingo night, and she had a champion title to protect. 

Midway through their food, her sister brought up the previous subject they’d touched upon that afternoon.

“So...tell me about your guy.”

Dawn didn’t know why, but for the briefest of seconds, the thought she was talking about Sunny.

_No......no, Nathan.  Oh, right...._

“...Well, um......he’s really nice and cute, and...he asked me to the party.”

Marianne stared at her sister in surprise as she went back to her noodles. 

Was that _it_?  In the past, Dawn would spill like Niagara Falls when asked about her crushes.  How gorgeous and perfect he was, how they were gonna get married and have six kids and live in a big house with a dog and a cat and yadda-yadda-yadda.  But now she was noticeably tight-lipped.  Was she not that crazy about this boy?  Certainly seemed like it to her.  Or was she just maturing?    

Either way, the doctor was wary.  The last thing she wanted was for her baby sister to get hurt, or to make any incredibly irresponsible decisions.  Regardless if there were going to be adult chaperones there, she needed to be sure Dawn was going to be smart if she was getting into the dating game again. 

“Uh, Dawn?  Y-you know...I think it’s time w-we......had a talk about-”

“Marianne, _please_.”  The teen cut in, rolling her eyes.  “I’m _seventeen_ ; it’s a little late for that.”

“... _How_ late?”

At her sister’s stricken expression, Dawn’s cheeks flamed.

“Oh!  _No_ , no!  Don’t worry, n-not _that_ late!”

Marianne deflated with a deep sigh of relief.  She could gladly live the rest of her days not imagining her sister doing... _that_ , thank you very much.   

“ _Good_.”

A short pause ensued before she spoke again.

“Did you find a costume to wear for the dance?”

Dawn nervously drummed her fingers on the tabletop. 

“I...found part of one.”

“What do you mean?”

“The only thing the store had that I liked was a pair of butterfly wings.  They were on sale!  _And_ I got a bottle of glitter to make them even prettier.  I want to pull off something _magical_.”

“How much was all that?”

“Seventeen dollars, after taxes.”

Marianne nodded, but frowned.  Despite the fact that Dawn had stayed well under budget, she was sensing a problem coming about the rest of her sister’s _ensemble_.

“Don’t you already _have_ a dress you can wear with your wings?” 

“Not one that will make me look like a Fairy Princess.”

“Dawn...”

The doctor massaged her temple, catching Dawn’s drift, and knowing that a mere fifteen bucks wasn’t going to be enough to buy a new dress.  Much less, one that looked ‘princess-y’. 

“...you know that I would love to buy you _everything_ you wanted, but until Roland pays me...there’s just nothing I can do.”

Guilt churned in Dawn’s stomach at the blatant stress afflicting her sister.  She wished she could do something to ease her worries permanently.  At least _Bog_ had a knack for chasing away Marianne’s blues.  It was a crying shame he was dead. 

_Sunny too._

Shaking her head, Dawn steeled her resolve to make do and give her sister a break. 

“That’s okay, Marianne!”  She hastily assured her in a no-big-deal tone.  “Forget it!  I’m sure I can come up with something _perfect_!” 

It did the trick.  The tired shadows across Marianne’s face receded and she cracked a grateful smile. 

The rest of the meal passed in companionable silence, only occasionally broken by simple chatter about random things.  When Dawn finished her serving, she headed back upstairs, leaving her sister to clear the dishes, before she made her way to the living room to watch a Patriots game with Bog. 

At half-time, she excused herself to use the phone.  She dialed Griselda’s number and the line was picked up on the third ring. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, Griselda!  It’s me.”

“Hi, dear!  Was the spaghetti alright?”

“Pure _perfection_!”

“Aw!  Thank you, Marianne!  I try.”

“Did you kill it at Bingo?”

“You bet I did!  That old Ethel Polinski just about had a cow!  Ha!  But anyway...how’s the hunt going, dear?  Did you find the diary yet?”

“No, unfortunately.  I’ve still got four rooms left on the second floor, and then there’s the third!  Are you absolutely certain you can’t remember which room she stayed in?”

“I’m sorry, Marianne.  I honestly haven’t a clue; it was so long ago.  If...I had to _guess_ as best I can, I’d say she was somewhere on the second floor, since she was so involved in the company.”  

The brunette wrapped the spiraled cord around her fist.  She was starting to worry.  At this rate, she would run out of time.  Halloween was only two weeks away.  If she didn’t find that diary, and then by extension, help Bog crossover, and contact her parents, then Roland’s deal was off and she and Dawn would be stranded and broke. 

Yet _worse_ than that was a strange, buried part of her that cringed in sharp pain at the thought of......not being able to see Bog anymore.    

But that was crazy!  This was her job!  And both her and Dawn’s futures were at stake, and the deadline was closing in fast!  She couldn’t afford to lose her focus now!  Plus, Roland would lord her failure over her until the end of time, and the very _last_ thing that bastard needed was another reason to be a lying, smug prick!  This was about proving herself, once and for all!  To her sister, the world, and most importantly...

... _herself_!    

“Marianne?  You there?”

 _Get it together, Tough Girl!_ She told herself, not even noticing that she’d used Bog’s favorite nickname for her.  _You’re stronger than this!  This is all part of the work!  It doesn’t matter if you...care for him.  You agreed to help him, so do it!_

“Yeah......yeah, I’m here.”

“Listen, dear.  I’ll be over early tomorrow to lend a hand.  I know there’s a boat race in Massachusetts tomorrow that Bog likes to watch, so he probably won’t be around until the afternoon.”

“Okay, sounds fine.  I’ll see you then; good night.”

“Good night, Marianne!  Sleep well, dear.”

Hanging up, Marianne strolled back into the living room and to Bog, more determined than ever before to reach her goals...

.

.

.

...no matter how much one of them in particular might hurt her once it was brought to fruition.  

* * *

The next morning was Saturday, and Dawn got an impulsive idea almost as soon as she’d opened her eyes to the sun’s golden rays.  Declining Sunny’s offer to watch cartoons downstairs, claiming that she was going to take a long bubble bath, she waited until he was safely gone, and then quickly pulled on a pair of jeans, a sweater, and her sneakers. 

She could hear her sister and Griselda rifling through one of the rooms at the opposite end of the hall.  Carefully, she tiptoed past the open doorway and walked briskly to the staircase beyond that led to the third floor. 

_Time for my own search._

Not wanting to get in Marianne’s way, Dawn had decided to explore the attic, half for the sake of adventure, and half in hopes of finding some fashionable, vintage clothes left over from the previous decades that could possibly serve as her main costume piece. 

Except for being smaller, the upstairs was similar to the second floor: lots of bedrooms (mostly locked) and antique furniture.  The curved corridor led to a door that was hiding a set of winding stairs, rising into a tower. 

At the top, Dawn found a large, drafty space filled with boxes and other junk.  Judging from the chill, the slanted roof, and the stripped walls, this was definitely the attic.  Gazing around, Dawn inspected the various items abandoned to time.  There were overturned chairs, mountains of books, several bicycles, a drum set, a model airplane, stacks of comics, a standing radio, limbless sewing mannequins, a taken apart bed frame, lamps, end tables, a collection of unconnected shelf knick-knacks, and a toboggan. 

It was a wonderland of stuff!  Dawn barely knew where to begin, but before she could even grab the first box, something caught her eye. 

A door. 

It was almost lost in the piles of discarded storage, and oddly enough, it was a head _shorter_ than her.  Pushing a path to it, Dawn twisted the handle and it turned, but the door didn’t budge.  Not willing to give up on her discovery so easily, she slammed her body against it.  No luck.  So, she kicked it hard by the knob and smirked when it gave way to her force. 

What awaited her, was another room. 

Its design was in the vein of all the others in Darkstaff, with the stained glass, cool colors, and wavy carvings.  It was just as unique and interesting as anywhere else in the manor, despite how dirty it was from years of neglect; she’d even describe it as cozy! 

So why was it tucked all the way up here?  What was it used for?

Too curious to leave it be, she grabbed the corner of a dustcover and wiped a spot clean on one of the circular windows, allowing a beam of bright light to stretch through the air and land on a plain, wooden crate. 

Approaching it, since it was as good a place to start as any, Dawn blew off the topmost layer of dust and revealed a name painted in black across the worn boards: 

‘Elfman.’

_Wonder who that could be..._

The rusty nails were no match for even her puny strength, and they came out with a tired groan.  When Dawn got a look at what was inside the crate, her face lit up and a brilliant flutter of joy came to life within her. 

_Oh, this is going to be awesome!!!_

Snatching the remaining dustcovers, she immediately threw herself into her new task; costume hunt forgotten.

* * *

Downstairs, Marianne and Griselda were done with the entire second floor, and there was still no diary in sight!  The caretaker tried to cheer the doctor as they trudged up the steps to the third floor, but it was an exercise in futility. 

Marianne was chewing her lips and trying not to panic at the fear that they were just on a wild goose chase and had been wasting all their precious time.  What would she do if her grandmother’s belongings had been removed ages ago?  How would she help Bog cross over?  How would she get paid?  How would they srvive?  How would she keep her promise to Dawn?

She was so preoccupied with her concerns, she barely even registered Griselda unlocking the first door they came to and guiding her inside. 

“Oh, my!”  The elder woman exclaimed in astonishment.  “It’s _empty_!”

“Huh?”

Blinking back to reality, Marianne saw that Griselda was indeed correct.  This room was utterly 100% free of clutter.  Heck, with a bit of polish, it would be ready for a guest to occupy.    

But then, she noticed a couple of things...

The closet door was ajar, and was packed with dresses and shoes.  There was a hairbrush, a cocktail hat, and filled perfume bottles on the vanity.  A 1940s blue party dress was slung across the foot of the bed.  Sitting on the dresser, was a framed photo of a young man in military uniform. 

Her grandpa!    

And there was a tiny book lying on the side table next to a ball point pen!

Practically tripping over her feet, Marianne dove for the diary and her trembling fingers almost dropped it twice in her hectic attack to open it.  It took some doing, but she managed to peel back the cracked leather cover of the upside-down journal, flip it over, and read the inscription:       

“ _To out dearest Aura.  Happy Birthday, darling!  We love you to the moon and stars!  Sincerely, your Mother and Father ~ 1929_.”   

Whooping in triumph, Marianne jumped up and down, clutching her grandmother’s diary to her chest in rapture. 

“This is it, Griselda!”  She shouted, beaming like a dancing flame.  “Ha, ha!  We _found_ it!  We finally _found_ it!”


	16. Chapter 16

Sunny roamed the halls of Darkstaff in search of his friend.  It had been several hours since she’d told him she was going to take a bath, and when he went to her room to check on her, he found the bathroom door wide open and the tub bone dry. 

Puzzled, and a tad worried, he called for her but received no reply.  Where could she be?  When both Marianne and Griselda, who were pouring over a diary in one of the second floor bedrooms, admitted to not seeing her, he had no choice but to follow his nose. 

Her intoxicating cherry blossom body lotion led him, oddly enough, to the third floor and on to the attic tower.  He couldn’t imagine what she was doing up there!

Entering, the wooden, dust-caked space, he heard quiet, tinkling noises coming from somewhere deeper within.  He realized they were coming from another adjoining room.  Curiously, he approached it, and Dawn’s lovely face peered out at him through the miniature doorway.

“It’s about time!”  She giggled, moving aside for him to come in. 

Sunny’s eyes were wide with awe as he took in the playground around him.  In contrast to the grimy attic behind him, this room was wiped thoroughly clean.  The blues, reds, and yellows of the walls and stained windows were healthy and vibrant again.  Everywhere he looked there was a mechanical wonder, whirring with life. 

“Woah...”  He breathed, and Dawn smiled.

“Look familiar?”

Flying closer, Sunny gawked at the various toys dancing a lively jig...that he had seen before.

“This is...”

There was a model carnival, complete with a rotating carousel and Ferris wheel; a fair he’d pretended to play in...so very long ago.

“...this is...”

Like swimming through inky, black water, Sunny pushed and pushed until the darkness melted away and a flood of memories came bursting forth.

“...I _know_ this!”

This was _his_ room!  He’d asked for it _specifically_ because......because he was so short...and it was the highest spot in all of Darkstaff.  In here...he was on top of the _world_!  And he could work on his models in total privacy! 

“I _remember_!”  He shouted in delight, and his exclamation was answered by a train whistle.  “Hooty!”

Laughing with unbridled glee, Sunny darted up to the suspended railroad track just in time to see his beloved locomotive chug by. 

He could hardly believe this!  His mind was _racing_ with all the things he’d forgotten for so many years!  He was so thrilled he wanted to scream!  And he owed it all to Dawn!  She’d done all this for _him_!  How could he _ever_ repay her?

A suggestion hit him.

“Oh, yeah!”

Zipping from the room with Dawn in tow, he dove into a rusty trunk by the attic’s pillar.  Using his energy to force the lid open, he emerged with a 1960s gown.

“Check it out!”  He grinned, holding the formal item of clothing over his friend.  “Hands up, Dawn!”

When she lifted her arms, Sunny slipped the dress over her head.  It fit like a glove.  The delicate chiffon over silk material was baby blue and soft as a rose petal, the skirt fell about mid-calf, trimmed with gold threaded patterns, and the transparent fabric of the sleeves draped halfway to the elbow.      

Needless to say, Dawn was _floored_.

“Aw, _wow_!”

“It was my mom’s.”  Sunny explained.

Dawn eyed him uncertainly, not wishing to cross a line.

“Can I?”

He only gestured kindly to a cracked and varnished, full-length mirror a few feet away. 

“Be my guest.”

Stepping to the mirror, Dawn gasped at her image.  She...was a _princess_!  It was perfect!

“Sunny, it’s _beautiful_!”  She gushed.  “I can wear this to the party!”

There was no response to her statement, and Dawn spun around to see Sunny sitting pensively on the toboggan.  His somewhat forlorn expression concerned her. 

“Are you okay, Sunny?”

For a moment, he didn’t say a word and his brow furrowed, as he dug through the joyful recollections......and into the shadows that remained. 

“...I begged and begged my dad to get me this toboggan,” he murmured, as if in a daze, “and...he acted like I couldn’t have it, ‘cause I didn’t know how to ride it.  Then one morning, I...came down for breakfast, and there it was, just for me......for no reason at all.”

Dawn sat beside him, as he continued. 

“I......took it out...went sledding all day......my dad said that’s enough but, I couldn’t stop; I was having so much fun.”

He smirked nostalgically, but it slowly vanished as the final piece came to light, and he whispered:

“...Then......it got late...got _dark_......and cold............and I got _sick_.  ...My dad got _sad_.” 

A horrible, inward agony crushed Sunny in its merciless grip.  Grief and fear stung him all over, and his non-essential breathing shuddered.  Helpless, he turned to Dawn, and his sorrow was increased tenfold by the sight of her wet, heart-broken eyes and reddened cheeks. 

Sniffling, she raised her hands to him, and understanding her intention, he solidified himself and folded into her embrace.  She squeezed him tight, as if her entire existence depended on it, and sobbed wretchedly.

Sunny hugged her back as firmly as he could; hating himself.  He’d never wanted her to cry for his sake; or cry _period_ , for that matter.  But this pain...

...this unnatural, unbearable pain...

...it was just too much for his lost, seventeen-year-old soul to control. 

As a being of no longer flesh and blood, he could never shed tears again.  Never have that psychical and psychological release.  So, she would shed them for him, and he would cling to her in his lonely, cursed state; mourning the renewed loss of his parents, his life...

...and repeating over and over the internal mantra that brought him more solace and peace than anything ever had or would until the end of time.

 _I love you, Dawn.  I love you._           

* * *

The loud, cheerful colors of a ripe October passed by in a blur as Bog soared over the northern Massachusetts landscape on his way home to Darkstaff.  The afternoon air was clear and chilled, not that he could register the latter fact.  He was colder than any temperature the autumn weather would hope to conjure, and had had half a century to grow accustomed.

He was feeling curiously...dissatisfied, and he was stunned as to why.  He’d always enjoyed the boat races.  To be fair, they weren’t terribly exciting, but he enjoyed the relaxation of watching the sails catch the high wind and stride along the swell a nd dip of the Atlantic waves.  

However, this time, something was just off.  He’d found his usual spot in an ancient elm tree, and cheered with the rest of the crowd when the pistol was fired, but then...

...nothing. 

His attention was perpetually drawn away from the festivities to pretty much anything else around him.  He stared at the bark, the ground, the ocean, and the surrounding buildings, without really seeing them.  Even his thoughts were blank!  Why? 

By the time the races ended, and the spectators gradually dispersed, he had his answer. 

He was bored. 

But that was absurd!  What reason did he have to be bored?  This was the exact same event he’d seen and loved a hundred times!  What had changed?

_She’s not here._

The sudden, mental conclusion had him sitting in that tree for over an hour after the park was emptied. 

Marianne.  Had he really grown so attached to her?  He certainly couldn’t deny the effect she seemed to have on his world.  His favorite old movies and music were almost brand new when he experienced them with her, conversations were engaging instead of tedious, Darkstaff was cheerful and warm, his attitude was now pleasant and genuine, and the sun, the moon, and the stars were brighter when she was near. 

She had become his friend.  Someone he liked and could trust.  Outside of his mother, he never expected to find such a person. 

He was...

.

.

.

...happy.       

It was so strange.  Happiness was an emotion he’d cast off as useless and pathetic for five decades.  Sure, he’d crack jokes and get a kick out of scaring the pants off of any fool that crossed his path, but that wasn’t the same.  That was lashing out, as Marianne had put it.  Covering up his own sadness and jealousy of the living with intimidation and cruel pranks. 

He’d been more or less forced to be content with that......until she came along.  She’d endured him, fought back (despite her fear), reached out to him, put her faith in him, talked to him, and _listened_ to him.   

And as a result, he was completely devoted.  What he wouldn’t do to see the fire in those amber eyes!  Anything she asked, he would do.  Wherever she wanted to go, he’d take her.  

 _But that’s just it, isn’t it?_ She _doesn’t want to go anywhere.  She wants_ you _to go somewhere..._ without _her.  To cross over._  

He knew it made him a selfish bastard, but he couldn’t help feeling a little glad as days upon days went by without her discovering his unfinished business.  It meant he had more time to spend with her.  After all, what good was...whatever the hell waited for him on the other side, if he left her behind?  At least with his mother, he wouldn’t have to be alone for very long.  But Marianne?  She had her whole life ahead of her!  A career!  A family!  She’d forget all about him.

 _And worse yet, what if she never finds her parents?  Then_ she’ll _have unfinished business and be trapped here.  I’ll never see her again._

Fright prickled his senses and he flew faster, crossing the state line in a blink, and following the coast back to Friendship.  As soon as the manor was within his sights, he shot towards it like a bullet, phasing through the walls into the atrium and calling out Marianne’s name with probably more anxiety than was warranted.

When she immediately emerged from the kitchen, all elegant and spirited, it was as if a blanket of comfort wrapped itself ‘round his spindly shape of fog and consciousness, swallowing him in that amazing jasmine and cinnamon cookie scent. 

He relaxed, masked his previous distress with a waggish smirk, and swirled around her in quick, teasing circles, making sure not to touch her. 

He wouldn’t allow himself that privilege. 

“Hey there, Tough Girl!  Were ye jus’ _miserable_ in my absence?”

“Why, grandma!”  She returned playfully.  “What a big _ego_ you’ve got!” 

Bog chuckled and came to a stop in front of her face, upside-down. 

“The better to _entertain_ ye with, my dear!  We still on fer the Marx Brothers marathon?  It starts in ten minutes!  I’ll bring the popcorn!” 

It was only _then_ he noticed that she was beaming at him and bouncing on her heels.

“Sure, sure!  But first, come into the library with me; it’s important!”

The ghost shrugged and did as he was told, trailing her as she led the way to her office where he was surprised to find his mom there; standing by the desk with a huge smile, and her hands clasped to her breast.  She too seemed just as excited as Marianne.

“Ye girls look like yer about to do cartwheels!”  He laughingly observed.  “What’s goin’ on, huh?”

Marianne crossed to the desk and picked up a small, pink book.  She played with it in her hands as she turned to face him.

“Bog, we think we’ve figured it out!”

“Figured what out, doc?”

“Your unfinished business!”

Bog’s humor vastly depleted.  It was as he’d dreaded.  He wanted to block his ears, or flee......but she was so blatantly pleased, he resolved himself to banish his cowardly urges. 

“O-oh?” He stammered, trying to sound invested.  “That’s...gr-great!  What did...ye f-find?”

She exchanged a glance with his mother and took a deep breath.

“Bog, do you remember a Miss ...... _Evelyn Green_?”

...

A frown tugged Bog’s lips.  The name was as foreign to him as another planet.  There wasn’t so much as a _spark_ of recognition.

“No.”

The women’s shared mood shifted.  Stark confusion colored their features, as if they’d been expecting a grand, dramatic spectacle of his memory being triggered. 

“You...you don’t?”  Marianne asked.

“I don’t.”

“Not at _all_?”

“That’s right.”

“Evelyn Green.”

“I heard ye the first time, Tough Girl; but I’m sorry.  I dorn’t know who yer talkin’ about.  Should I?”

“Bog, you were-!”  She faltered, and her eyes pinched almost painfully.  “...Y-you were in... _love_ with her.”

He stared at Marianne for a long, silent moment before snorting with a grin.

“That’s crazy!  Ye know how I feel about that stuff.”

Her head shook in objection.

“No, Bog!  That’s how you feel _now_ , not _then_!  _She_ was the cause!  Something happened between you two the night of an anniversary party for your company in 1942, and it drove you to drink until you died!  Don’t you get it?  Isn’t _any_ of this ringing any bells?”

Bog held up his hands in defense.  The deluge of unfamiliar information was making him nervous.  

“Hey, I dorn’t know what to tell ye, doc!  I dorn’t remember any party, and I truly _dorn’t_ know anyone named Eleanor!”

“ _Evelyn_!”

“Right, whatever.”  He dismissed.  “Look, can we go now?  Are we _done_?  One o’ the greatest comedy trios in history is about to come on!”    

Marianne’s mouth opened and closed indecisively for a handful of seconds before she apparently gave up with a weary sigh. 

“Alright, Bog.  Yes, we’re done here.  You go on ahead, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Grateful for his freedom, Bog drifted to the door, but hesitated.  He couldn’t bear to see her so...defeated. 

“I...I didn’t mean to disappoint ye, Marianne.  Are ye okay?”

She met his gaze with surprise, but softened her expression in a manner that made him shiver in enchantment.

“I’m fine, Bog.  Save my seat for me.”

With that, he nodded and quit the room.

Once he was gone, Marianne furiously paced the floor, her brain scrambling through perplexed and frustrated questions.

 _What the hell?!_   

“I just can’t understand it!”  She said, flipping through her grandmother’s diary and skimming over the various key passages they’d found.  “There’s no way this is a coincidence!  _Evelyn_ is the answer!  It all fits!  So... _why_ can’t he remember her if she’s so significant?”

“Maybe...he doesn’t _want_ to?”

Marianne paused and quirked an eyebrow at the caretaker.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, aside from the standard amnesia ghosts seem to have, what if there’s something... _extra_ , in his case?  You know how when one goes through a trauma, sometimes the mind blocks it out?  Even if it’s just emotional?  Could _that_ be it?”

The doctor raked her hands through her brown, flyaway locks.  It was a perfectly sound theory.

“...I see your point; it’s definitely plausible...... _shit_!”

_How can I get him to cross over if he can’t remember his unfinished business?  How can I make him remember?_

“What are we going to do now?”  Griselda asked.  

“......I guess we’re going to have to try and...jog his memory more...forecefully.”

“But how?”

Drumming her fingers on the desk, Marianne concentrated on formulating an idea.  Thankfully, a solution came relatively fast. 

“Wait.”

“What is it?”

“Bog had a reaction when he _saw_ my mom’s resemblance to my grandma, and the primrose brooch.”

“So?”

“ _So_ , what if all we have to do is make him _see_ her?” 

Griselda uttered a strangled moan. 

“Oh, but _dear_ ; that’s _impossible_!  It’s been over fifty _years_!  And she was just a guest in our home for _one_ night!  The only other person who knew her was your grandmother, but she’s already _dead_!" 

Marianne was only partially listening to the older lady’s concerns.

Another plan was organizing itself in her thoughts.  An incredibly drastic plan, but......desperate times call for desperate measures and whatnot. 

_Besides, it’ll act as a safe test, for later._

“Griselda?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I’m gonna need you to tell me everything you know about the occult, and come with me to the library tomorrow morning.”

 

          


	17. Chapter 17

_September 16th, 1942-_

_Dear Diary,_

_I am so happy!  You’ll never believe who I ran into at the market today!  My old gradeschool mate, Idina Mentzel!  Goodness, I haven’t seen her in years!  We were the best of friends!  She just moved here to be closer to her grandmother.  What a small world!  And she had the loveliest girl with her!  A Miss Evelyn Green.  Apparently, she’s her cousin and she’s attending the Maine College of Art over in Portland!  Such a sweet, young thing!  Wore a bit too much make-up in my opinion, but other than that, she was perfectly charming!  _

_Anyway, we grabbed lunch, talked for an age, and I’ve made plans to visit them this Saturday afternoon.  They gave me a ride home and I laughed when I saw their faces!   They just had to get out of the car to take a gander at Darkstaff.  It’s really is impressive, and I won’t lie, I felt pretty smug._

_But the best part about all this was after they left and I went inside to find Mr. King, staring out the front window.  Jeepers, I’d never seen such a smitten look on that grumpy mug of his before!  I honestly didn’t think it was possible!  He practically cornered me in the hall, asking about the ‘beautiful creature in the blue dress’!  Heavens to Betsy, I can hardly write, I’m still so shocked!  He fancies Evelyn!  My, my..._

_Not that I’m not thrilled for him.  I think a little romance is just what he needs.  He rarely thinks about anything other than his company.  Might get his mother off his back for a while.  We’ll just have to see how it pans out._

_Still no letter from my Arthur.  I try not to get too worried, because I’m sure he’s fine, but it’s difficult when you go for weeks without hearing a word.  I miss him so much.  My prayers are with him every night.  Damn this awful war._

_~_

_September 19th, 1942-_

_Dear Diary,_

_I had a wonderful time at Idina’s house!  We had roast chicken and apple cider.  The chicken was delicious, if not a tad burnt, Idina was never much of a cook, but I was just grateful to be eating something other than fish.  That’s the problem with these coastal towns.  Picturesque, but repetitive._

_Idina told me all about her majoring in education and her new job at the elementary school.  I’m very glad for her.  She’s always loved children.  And she’s been seeing a man named Joe who works as a mechanic.  I hope he’s the marrying kind.  That spark in Idina’s eye was almost blinding!_

_Anyway, I saw Evelyn, but she didn’t stay too long.  She had to go to the library to study for class, but the funniest thing was when I got home and Mr. King again begged me to tell him everything I learned about her!  I tell you, that man is gone!  But I almost bust a gut when I suggested I introduce him!  He turned white as a sheet!  What a silly man!  It’s amazing, he’s a beast of a business man, but try to get him to meet the girl he likes, and he turns more skittish than a deer!   Just adorable!  But I hope he gets over it soon.  I’m not very keen on the idea of being a go-between.  I’ve got far more important things to worry about._

_Still nothing from Arthur, but the papers say there’ve been more RAF bombings in Germany.  Please be safe, my darling._

_~_

_October 16th, 1942-_

_Dear Diary,_

_Land sakes alive, I’m almost at the end of my rope!  I am so sick and tired of being Mr. King’s spy, just because he’s too shy to approach Evelyn himself!  Every day after work, and especially whenever I come back from visiting Idina, it’s Evelyn this, Evelyn that!  And he makes me sneak in all these silly love notes and gifts he signs as her ‘secret admirer!  Honestly, if he wasn’t my boss, I’d let the cat out of the bag in a heartbeat because this is ridiculous!  Can’t he just say hello, like a normal person?  I know he’s not much to look at, but he IS the richest man in town.  Shouldn’t that give him at least an ounce of confidence?  I don’t know how much more of this I can take. _

_On a more pleasant note, I FINALLY HEARD FROM ARTHUR!  He was lately waylaid in a classified location, but he told me that he’s alright and that last week, he went to a café with some of his mates and there was a painting of a garden filled with primroses on the wall by his table.  He says it made him miss me so much, he couldn’t eat a bite.  Silly man!  Words cannot express how ecstatic I am to know that he’s alive and well, but I must write to him immediately and give him hell for skipping meals!  That lovable goof of mine!_

_~_

_October 18, 1942-_

_Dear Diary,_

_Well, I finally put my foot down and told Mr. King that he needs to tell Evelyn how he feels, because I am done being his faux-matchmaker/errand-girl.  He looked like we was going to have a cow, but I convinced him that it was for the best.  I even promised to help him in his approach.  We’ve decided to wait until the company’s anniversary ball.  I’ll make sure Evelyn receives an invitation, and then we’ll find a way to get them alone.  It’s even going to be a costume party, so he can ease himself into it, I suppose.  In the meantime, he’ll be taking lessons from me on how to sweep her off her feet.  He’s scared out of his wits, but I’m sure everything will be fine.  Evelyn’s been pretty excited about her secret admirer, so I don’t think he has a thing to worry about, just as long as he stays calm and collected._

_Also, I bought Arthur’s Christmas gift today.  The Maltese Falcon.  I saw it in the bookstore and just had to snatch it up.  He’s always wanted to read it.  I saw the movie last year and thought it was quite exciting.  I wish he could’ve seen it with me._

_~_

_October 30, 1942-_

_Dear Diary,_

_I’m exhausted and I think I’ve had a teensy bit too much to drink, but I had a wonderful time at the ball tonight.  I even danced a few times, but none of my partners could hold a candle to Arthur.  They kept stepping on my mermaid tail!  I would’ve been just livid if any of them had torn it!  I’m always a dish on blue sequins!  Idina came dressed as a witch and wore a green mask.  We spent most of the evening in the parlor, just chatting and drinking.  She’s worried about Joe’s commitment to her.  He’s been avoiding the subject of marriage and any talk of their relationship in the long term.  I may have to pay a visit to this cad and lay down the law.  Nobody plays with my friend’s affections!_

_Anyway, the only other downside to the party was Mr. King.  I had everything prepared.  I told Evelyn that her secret admirer wanted to meet her outside in the gazebo.  I even had one of the waiters set two glasses of pink champagne for them.  It was perfectly romantic!  Then I gave Mr. King the signal and he followed her out the back.  I thought that was the end of it but Evelyn came back inside not even five minutes later and demanded that Idina take her home.  She wouldn’t say anything other than that she wasn’t feeling well, and she certainly did seem sick.  But then as soon as they left, Mr. King came barging back into the house.  He didn’t say anything to anyone other than his mother, but before he went upstairs, he looked at me, and I swear I felt a chill.  I’ve never seen so much anger.  I fear something went terribly wrong between them.  I only hope he isn’t too upset._

_~_

Marianne closed the tiny pink book she’d been skimming through as she waited for Griselda to come out of the ladies room.  Their trip to the library had been helpful, not nearly as much as she would’ve liked, but it confirmed what they absolutely _needed_ to know if their plan was going to succeed tomorrow. 

Despite the pressing matter at hand, she had to admit that it was incredibly endearing, reading about her grandma’s love for her grandpa in their youth.  Almost as fascinating (and humorous) as reading about Bog back then, and what an adorably timid sweetheart he was underneath his tough, growling exterior.  She ignored the peculiarly sour taste in her mouth that came whenever she thought about how it was all for Evelyn and...not for-

“Ready to go, dear?”

She flinched at Griselda’s voice and covered with a vigorous nod as she threw on her coat and led the way to the parking lot. 

Under the reasoning that she had only a precious few years left and deserved to enjoy her independence, Griselda had demanded to drive her Cadillac, and Marianne was too preoccupied to argue. 

“You sure you can handle everything tomorrow?”  She asked as they slid into their seats.

“I think so.”  The older woman replied.  “I mean, I’ve never actually done it before, but based on what know firsthand, and what I’ve gathered over the years, it should work, but...”

“But what?”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, dear?  What if...he doesn’t......have the best reaction?”

“I know this probably going to be painful for him, but he has to get past it, and at this point, we don’t really any other options.”

_And I’m running out of time._

“I suppose you’re right, but I’m still nervous all the same.  I wish we just had some photographs.”

“Me too, but we don’t, so...this is it.”

Griselda sighed, and as she fumbled with her seat belt, something occurred to Marianne. 

_Speaking of photos..._

“Hey, Griselda?”

“Yes, dear?” 

“Do you have any pictures of Bog when he was alive?”

The caretaker paused and blinked at her friend for three whole seconds before she burst out laughing.

“Oh, my!  I’m so sorry!”  She cackled.  “I am such a simpleton!  Did I really never show you?!  Of course, dear!  Look here!” 

Reaching into her purse, she retrieved a small and worn pocket book.  Undoing the clasp, she opened it and passed it over. 

Staring up at Marianne, were a pair of men’s faces that were so similar, there was no doubt of the family relation.  The first man was older, with an imposing air and sharp, lined features still distinguishable in the faded image.  His hair was dark and combed in the style of the 1920s. The pinstripe suit he wore was smart and expensive-looking.  His glowering eyes were intense, as if Briar Alan King could see straight into her soul. 

When her eyes drifted to the other man, Marianne’s pulse skipped and tingles raced under her skin. 

There he was. 

Bog. 

In his early twenties.

And in the flesh and blood...so to speak.    

His features weren’t any less sharp than his father’s, but the lines, though present, were far less pronounced.  He had the same intimidating aura about him, and yet...she could sense an ironic gentleness hidden in his thin lips, in the light stubble coating his jawline, in the handful of scars she could just make out on his chin and cheekbones, and in his eyes.  She silently bemoaned the limiting black and white tones, and longed to see the rich, soft true color of those beautiful eyes, which she knew were heavenly blue.

“What do you think?”  Griselda questioned.  “I know he wasn’t the Hollywood type, and that I’m naturally biased, but I always thought he was dashing in his own way.  “Don’t you?”

Marianne couldn’t answer.  All she could do was tenderly stroke the likeness with the tips of her fingers.

And for the first time, Griselda began to wonder if the doctor’s heart was more invested in her son than it appeared to be.   

* * *

While Marianne and Griselda were busy preparing, Dawn and Sunny spent the remainder of their weekend in the attic, digging through more of Sunny’s belongings. 

They found more trunks with clothes.  He laughed with her about his goofy sweaters and seemingly endless supply of polos and awful striped button-down shirts.  Any more of his mother’s dresses, he gladly gifted to Dawn.  A guitar was discovered in one of the crates, and after a bit of tuning on both it and his drum set, he showed her what a talented musician he was, now that he remembered how to play.  He showed her which ones of his models were his favorites, and even pulled out a few dusty unopened boxes in the closet so she could help assemble a steamship in record time.  Buried under a pile of early 1960s periodicals, they discovered a manual air pump, and were soon pedaling two of the bicycles in circles around the large pillar. 

Sunny was very happy to be enjoying his childhood again, and with Dawn, it was all the better.  However, sometimes, the fun was interrupted by more bittersweet memories snagging onto whatever item the two teens chose to entertain themselves with:

A scolding for playing too loud, or rising too fast.

A smiling face presenting him with a brightly wrapped birthday or Christmas present.

A hugs, kisses, or applause when he finished another model, or a song.

When these thoughts arose, he would grow quiet and pensive.  Focusing on his parents’ kind faces and gentle voices, and the life he lived around them. 

He was born in Georgia, and lived there until he was five, then the family moved to Boston for his father’s job.  There they stayed for nine years, until his mother sadly died of cancer.  By then, his father had accumulated quite a bit of wealth with his duel skills in industrial and chemical engineering, so for a fresh start, he retired and took Sunny with him to Maine, where he bought Darkstaff manor.

Sunny was the first to notice the hauntings.  Just minor things: doors opening by themselves, cold drafts, unexplainable shadows, things being moved or vanishing altogether.  For three years, he tried to convince his dad about the strange phenomena, but he never believed him.  He was too rational.  He’d just laugh it off with a joke that Sunny’s ‘uncle Bog’ must be playing tricks, for he knew the original owner had died in the house. 

Dawn, noticing Sunny had grown silent again, set aside the Batman comic book she was flipping through, and turned to him.  The last thing she wanted was to upset him, but when he lost himself in his mind like this, she couldn’t help her morbid and sympathetic curiosity. 

“Sunny......what’s it like to die?”

Hearing her, he blinked, but his face remained brooding.

“......Like...being born...” he slowly replied, “...only backwards...you lose everything.  I remember......I didn’t go where I was supposed to.  I...s-stayed behind......so my dad wouldn’t be lonely; he already missed by mom so much...but......he couldn’t see me.  I wasn’t strong enough to _make_ him see me, or hear me.  I was......invisible.”

Frowning apologetically, Dawn absentmindedly stirred the disarray of comics and old, yellowed newspapers at her feet...

...until one caught her eye.  One with the name ‘Elfman’ on the cover page. 

Picking it up, Dawn saw the photograph of a large, bald man with honey-tinted eyes and a soul patch on his chin that matched Sunny’s.

“Is that your dad?”

Sunny glanced at the paper. 

“Mm-hmm.  His name was Pare.”

Dawn read the adjoining headline and article aloud:

“‘Renowned Former Engineer Declared Legally Insane.  Professor Pare Elfman, known for his multiple contributions to the field of both industrial and chemical engineering was......c-committed to the Augusta State Hospital on the grounds of insanity.’  Oh, Sunny!”

“They came and took him away one day.”  Sunny muttered, gazing miserably at his hands.  “I tried to visit him as much as I could, but...I always had to leave because I was tied to this place.  They pumped him full of so many drugs that...he must’ve forgotten all about me......because I never saw him again.  He must’ve crossed over without me.  ......What else does it say?” 

The girl bit her lip.  She wanted to stop and comfort him, but his desire to hear more made her feel awkward.  Perhaps it was best to just continue.

“...U-um......’Elfman claimed he was haunted by the ghost of his dead son, and that he’d invented a machine to...’”

_What?_

“‘...br-......bring him............ _back_ to _life_?’”

Perplexed, Dawn faced Sunny for clarification, but froze when she saw the way his whole form almost seemed to be lit with the returning revelation.  His mouth fell open in a breathless whisper:

“The _Lazarus_.”   


	18. Chapter 18

Dawn had never seen Sunny so... _absorbed_.  He was so still, and his eyes and mouth were open wide enough that when he suddenly faced her, she jumped a bit in fright.

“Um, Sunny, what did you mean, ‘The Laza-?  _Hey_!”

Her question was cut off by Sunny seizing her wrist and dragging her through the attic.  Before she even knew what was happening, he’d slipped through the wall, apparently so caught up in whatever had possessed him, he forgot the tiny, but glaringly obvious fact about her being solid.

“Oof!” 

She smacked the wall with enough force to fall back on her rear. 

“Dawn?”  Sunny called, poking his head back into the room, but gasping when he saw her in a heap on the floor.  “Oh, my gosh!  Are you okay?!”

The blonde shook her rattled head to clear it.  She was alright, save for a smarting cheek and the dust, but she frowned at him anyway.

“S-sorry!”  He muttered sheepishly as she got up and brushed off her skirt and face.  “Guess, we’ll have to take the long way.”

“Way to _where_?”

“My dad’s laboratory!  Hurry up, come on!” 

Grabbing her arm again, he pulled her to the attic door and down the winding stairs.

“I thought your dad was retired!”  Dawn huffed as she jogged after her excited friend through the halls. 

“He was!  But he still liked to tinker around sometimes in secret.  He had his lab built into a sea cave at bottom of the cliff, but you can only access it from the house!  And I think I remember how he used to get in!  Aw, wait ‘til you _see_ it!”

By the time they reached the base of the second floor stairs, Dawn was completely winded. 

“Don’t you know a shortcut?”

“You got it!” 

Sunny yanked her sharply to the right and to Dawn’s horror, she realized they were heading straight for another wall.

“Sunny, no!”  She cried, but his grip was too strong.  “Wall?  Human?  _Hello_?!  STOP!”

Not adhering to her plea, Sunny tossed her forward, and Dawn's hands came up to brace for impact. However, instead of colliding with wood and plaster, she was shocked to feel the wall give way like a revolving door, and her momentum pitched her through the hidden passage and into the railing of the library’s open, upper level. 

Bewildered, Dawn’s eyes shot around in every direction, until Sunny’s voice came from her left. 

“Over here!”

She spun around and found him waiting for her next to an antique, wingback, parlor chair.  Beside it, was an end table supporting a single stained glass lamp with tassels hanging from the shade.

“Have a seat!”  Sunny instructed, gesturing to the red, velvet cushions. 

Cautiously, Dawn approached him and sat herself down.

“I would hold on.”  He said with a slightly ominous tone as she got more comfortable. 

Peering at him curiously, she clutched the armrests.

“...Why?” 

Sunny’s only reply was to tug on one of the lampshade tassels and instantly, a deep metallic groaning sound was heard, and she squeaked as the chair quaked beneath her...

...but then nothing. 

The ghost boy’s expression colored with confusion.

“What the-?”

He tried again once, twice, three times, but it was all the same. 

A groan, a quake, then silence.

“Ah, _man_!”  He grumbled, striking a nearby shelf with his fist. 

“What’s wrong?”

“The gears must be rusty after so many years of not being used.  Darn it!  I’ll have to go below and fix them myself, and that could take a few days.”

Dawn rose from the chair and took his hand comfortingly. 

“That’s alright, Sunny.  You can show me later this week, before the party."  Walking back through the trick wall/door, she led him through the hall the way they’d come.  “Don’t worry about it now.  Let’s go build that rocket ship model!”

She was totally oblivious to the tender and grateful look he was giving her for her understanding. 

“Okay.”

* * *

On Monday, Sunny stayed behind for the first time as Dawn went off to school.  He wasn’t too happy about it, and perhaps went to his work with a tad more grumpy force than was necessary. 

Regardless, his foul mood, combined with the repetitive clinking, clanking, and grinding of the ancient metal wheels and tracks deep underground made him fully unaware of the chaos that had erupted in Darkstaff by late morning... 

* * *

“You sure you’ve got everything?”  Marianne asked as she and Griselda placed the small collection of smooth, triangular crystals in a circle around the table they’d set up in the library annex.

It was just a tiny room where the encyclopedias were stored, nestled beside the fireplace, and with a single round window.  The plan was to have Griselda do her stuff in private, while Marianne talked to Bog outside and prepared him for what was about to occur, God willing. 

“I believe so.”  The older lady nodded thoughtfully.  “Just place the diary in the middle."

Marianne did so. 

“Thank you, dear.”

The doctor stepped back and observed their set up.  Griselda couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting, even when she sat down on the stool, its rickety legs rattled with her quivering. 

“What exactly is the significance of crystals?”  The brunette wondered aloud in an attempt to distract her companion.  “I expected Ouija boards and pentagrams.”

“It’s the prism effect.”  Griselda murmured, absently.  “The white light passing through and splitting into the different colors of the spectrum.  Based off of what I’ve read, the most plausible explanation appears to be that it can attract them because it symbolizes crossing over into paradise.”

“That’s pretty fascinating.  What about the rest?”

“I won’t lie, this would be so much easier if we had a photo or a personal item, but as long as I concentrate, there’s still a chance it’ll be successful.”

“You think she’s...... _lost_ , too?”

Griselda sighed.

“I’d say it’s a safe bet.  I mean, drowning from a shipwreck at the age of twenty-four?  _Three_ days before her engagement party?  The poor, dear...and all those other people with her...”

Marianne chewed her lip in sympathy.  It truly was tragic, what had happened to Evelyn.  There was barely any uncertainty in her mind that she, wherever she was, had unfinished business as well.  Maybe, if this panned out, _she_ could be her next patient. 

The idea was swept away almost as quickly as it came.  It made her......extremely uncomfortable to imagine what she would do... _after_ Bog was _gone_.

“I’ll ask you one last time, Marianne.”  Griselda said, firmly.  “Are you absolutely _positive_ that this is... _right_?”    

It took a moment for Marianne to answer a quiet ‘yes’. 

Honestly, she wasn’t positive about _anything_ anymore.  She felt as if she was being torn in at least two different directions.  Equal parts anticipation and smothering dread were splashing inside of her like a raging storm over the ocean. 

This was going to hurt Bog, she knew, but it was _essential_ to his healing process.  He had to face it, so he could make peace with it and......m-move on...

_But do I really want him to?_

What utter crap!  Of _course_ she wanted him to!  What sort of cold, heartless, self-centered, person would she be if she didn’t?!  He was trapped here!  Suffering!  He needed to _go_.  Be with his dad and his friends! 

Yes, she liked him! 

Yes, she cared about him! 

As a good doctor _should_! 

But that there was the problem!  She was his _doctor_!  She had to do what was best for _him_! 

...No matter if she would never forget him.

...No matter how much she would miss him.

And miss him, she would.  _Desperately_. 

Her parents had been ripped away from her in a blink, but Bog...

It was as if she was less than a week away from witnessing the sudden death of her best friend, and she was _terrified_. 

Yet what was worse was every time she thought of that damn deal with Roland.  She needed the money, the stability.  She’d _promised_ Dawn, and she would sooner die herself than break a promise to her sister! 

Still, she felt like a cruel bitch each day when she checked the calendar, and that tiny, impatient whisper told her that her deadline was getting closer and closer.  That she needed to hurry her ass up, or she’d be a worthless failure.

A fraud.

A _liar_.    

 _But aren’t you lying anyway?  By omission?  You haven’t told anyone about Roland’s offer; especially Bog!  You want_ him _to be honest with_ you _, but if you_ _can’t do him the same curtesy, doesn’t that make you a hypocrite?  Even_ normal _patients know their psychiatrists get paid for their services.  So why won’t you tell him?_

She would.  She made the decision then and there.  She couldn’t have done it before, because he wouldn’t have trusted her.  He would’ve...semi-correctly assumed she was just looking out for _her_ best interests instead of his. 

Now things had changed, and she truly _was_ completely _dedicated_ to him. 

_So then quit screwing around, you idiot!  Put away your goddamn, bleeding heart and do what you have to do..._

_...to set him free._

Squaring her shoulders, and biting back a sting in her eyes, she moved to the annex doors. 

“If I can keep my focus steady, it should take me just a few minutes.”  Griselda stated. 

“Knock when you’re ready.”  Marianne instructed, and when she received a solemn nod, she shut her inside. 

With slow, hesitant steps, she walked to the center of the library and took a deep, calming breath. 

_Let’s do this thing._

“Bog!”  She called, loudly.  “Bog, could you come in here, please?”

At first, there was no reply, but gradually, she started to hear singing heading in her direction.

_Bum-bum-bum-bum-bum~_

_If yer lookin’ fer trouble~_

_Bum-bum-bum-bum-bum~_

_Ye came to the right place~_

_Bum-bum-bum-bum-bum~_

The doors burst open and there he was, arms spread dramatically, and doing quite a spot on impression of The King, despite the Scottish accent. 

_If yer looking fer trouble~_

_Bum-bum-bum-bum-bum~_

_Just look right in my face~_

_Bum-bum-bum-bum-bum~_

Wrapped up in his performance, he slid into the room, rocking his ‘hips’, and crept towards Marianne with predatory grace.

She couldn’t help backing away...

...nor the blush on her cheeks. 

_I was born standin’ up~_

_Bum-bum-bum-bum-bum~_

_An’ talkin’ back~_

As his voice swelled, he threw his head back and he guided her retreating form in an arching path.  

_My daddy was a green-eyed mountain jack~_

_Because I'm evil, my middle name is misery~_

_Well I'm evil~_

Bumping her knees, Marianne toppled backwards onto the couch and Bog leaned down in her face, crooning the last line. 

_So don't ye mess around with me~_

Rolling her eyes endearingly, she applauded him. 

“Heh, not bad, huh?”  He chuckled, swooping to sit beside her as she struggled to adjust her seating...... _and_ cool down.

“Alan Bogerton, you are a dork!” 

“Takes one to know one, Tough Girl.”  He teased, giving her a nudge.  “But ye really missed out, ye know?  _King Creole_ is a _great_ flick!”

“I know.  I’m sorry, but I...had some business to see to.”

“I still say it could’ve waited fer Elvis!  Man, I love that kid!  Best thing to come outta the 50s, in my opinion.”

Marianne just shook her head with a fond smile.

“Whatever you say.”

“Well, alrighty then.”  Bog grinned, relaxing into the ratty cushions.  “What did ye want with me, doc?”

Swallowing her surprisingly dry throat, Marianne began:

“I wanted you in here because, today we’re going to address your unfinished business.”

She saw him frown.

“What’s the point?  I can’t remember it.”

“That’s why we have to dig deeper.”  Marianne explained.  “We have to _make_ you remember.”

“Why?”

“So we can discuss it, and get you to cross over.”

“But......but I......”

“You what?”

“I......I like it _here_ -”

“Bog-”

“-with _you_.”

An awkward pause ensued between the pair.  Marianne was too stunned to speak.  Her hands trembled, and she sensed her selfish weakness rising. 

No. 

No! 

He can’t.

 _I_ can’t! 

But Bog went on before she could speak.

“Do I really have to do this ‘cross over’ thing?  We have... _fun_ , dorn’t we?  We’re friends?  I feel...... _better_ when yer around; happier.  Can’t we just.......stay together?”

Marianne closed her eyes as anguish pressed ice through her veins.  So much of her wanted to say yes, and forget all about his therapy and Roland’s fucking wager. 

From the depths of her soul, she knew the truth. 

She didn’t want Bog to leave her. 

Ever.     

But her feelings _weren’t_ important!

For his own sake, Bog had to do it.  Heck, not _just_ even for his own sake!

“Bog...listen to me.”  She lowly pleaded, fixing her gaze on him.  “We _do_ have fun, and we _are_ friends; the best.  And _as_ your friend, I _have_ to encourage you to cross over; professionally and personally.  We both already know that you get more and more tired with this...existence as the years go by, and no amount of movies, music, or jokes will make it any less boring.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she beat him to it. 

“If you won’t think of yourself, then...think about your _mother_.  She loves you so much, she could never abandon you.  Do you want her to become a ghost too?  Do you want to be responsible for keeping her away from your father, _forever_?” 

Bog stared sadly at his hands.

“And...as for _me_......Bog, if we stay together...you _know_ one day I won’t be here anymore.  You’ll be alone again...and I can’t allow that on my conscience.  Please, trust me, Bog.  You don’t deserve to be in limbo, you deserve paradise.”

“......there’s no paradise without _you_.”      

!!!

A gasp flew from her lips, and the world all but tilted on its axis at his muttered words.  Indecent, feminine thrills rolled through her entire body, so powerful, she impulsively ignored the rational shouting within her, and almost reached for him...

But was interrupted by three solid taps on the annex doors. 

Startled, the both sat up.

“What’s that?”  Bog questioned.

Butterflies swarmed in her stomach and her fingers twitched as she answered him.

“A...s-s-special guest......for you to talk to.”

His brow furrowed and he rose, eyeing the closed annex warily. 

“W-what to ye mean?  Marianne, what have ye done?”

She didn’t have a chance to warn him, before the doors banged open and a flood of ethereal mist poured into the room.  Startled, she leapt to her feet, just as a humanoid figure became discernable in the fog; a ghost...a woman...

_Evelyn Green._

Her limbs were a bit on the skinny side, which was in contrast to the plumpness of her face.  Long, straight hair floated like a watery cloud about her head.  Thick lashes highlighted her pearly blue orbs, which glanced anxiously all over the library. 

Marianne didn’t know why she was pettily _glad_ to find her...rather average, by her estimation.

Yet, when she caught Bog’s sharp intake of breath when he at last recognized the person before him, her guts burned and twisted with an ugly emotion she couldn’t identify, at present.  She even made the mistake of looking at Bog and seeing his expression bright with disbelief and _adoration_.     

_..Love..._

As if in a trance, Bog drifted closer to the spirit of his living heart’s desire.  No doubt he was reliving all those weeks of longing and hidden passion.  Marianne gnawed her tongue to keep from spitting a curse.

_What is your problem?!  This is what you wanted!_

Then why did her chest throb when he whispered her name in pure reverence?

“ _Evelyn_...”

It was _then_ that their visitor seemed to notice Bog, and when she _did_ , the most awful look of horror and disgust consumed her pale features.  She immediately shrank away with an ear-piecing shriek of fear, palms held up in defense, and then fled through the window.

To say that Marianne wasn’t shocked at this unexpected and unfortunate turn of events would’ve been the understatement of the 20th century!  But her concerns were all for Bog as she watched him curl in on himself, panting heavily from the second agonizing rejection, and the return of the crushing misery that had followed and pushed him to his grave. 

“Bog, honey...?”  Griselda soothed before Marianne could make a sound; she was nervously inching from the annex.  “Sweetheart, it's-"

But it was already too late for comfort.  Overtaking the pain......was the _rage_.  And just as he’d done over fifty years ago, he foolishly lashed out at the one his notorious temper reasoned was to blame for this hellish torment:

Whirling about with such incredible speed Marianne yelped in alarm, he took on the likeness of Mr. Springfield, and with vicious, blazing red eyes, he roared in a timbre so furious and deafening, the manor trembled to its roots. 

“YE STUPID, _STUPID_ GIRL!  WHY CAN’T YE JUST MIND YER OWN BLOODY **_BUSINESS_**?!”

Tears sprang to Marianne’s eyes and she collapsed to the rug at the ghastly image of her dead father screaming violently at her, but before she could fully register what was happening, Bog vanished into thin air.  Thoroughly traumatized, and deaf to Griselda’s worried voice, she buried her face in her arms and sobbed.   


	19. Chapter 19

Dawn was so confused. 

Ever since she’d come home from school on Monday afternoon, this had been...wrong.  She didn’t know what had happened, but her sister had locked herself up in her room, and refused to come out, or answer Dawn’s concerned questions.  Even Griselda wouldn’t spill the beans, she’d just trudge up the stairs with a covered tray of food to leave outside Marianne’s door and say that her sister wasn’t feeling well.

But Dawn wasn’t stupid.  She knew Marianne, and had heard her crying softly on more than one occasion during the week.  Her sister was _upset_ , and no one would tell her _why_!  

Sometimes, she really hated being a teenager.  Everybody always thought you were too young and immature to understand adult problems, so they encouraged you to forget about it and go about your business.  Jerks. 

She had hoped she’d get a better answer from Boggy, but oddly enough, she hadn’t seen nor heard from him for the past few days _either_!  Now that was weird...

Could it have something to do with Marianne’s onset depression?

Did he _already_ cross over and she was missing him?!  That seemed pretty likely; they’d grown so close, but that was the one thing Griselda chose to clear up for her.  No, Bog was still around; he’d just gone out for a while.   

Dawn wouldn’t lie, she was glad of it.  She’d hate for Boggy to leave without giving her a chance to say goodbye.  Yet, she wondered why he left and why it resulted in her sister confining herself.  Wherever he was, she hoped he’d come home soon...so he could cheer Marianne up. 

_I swear, she smiles so much when he’s around.  Not even Roland made her this hap-_

Her steps halted on the hallway’s faded carpet runner. 

Oh, she felt like a moron.  How could she have missed the signs?  It was so obvious!  Marianne was falling for Bog!  There was no other explanation!  Their relationship had evolved into a far more cordial and comfortable arrangement than the standard for a doctor and patient.  From what Dawn had seen throughout their weeks at Darkstaff, little by little, her sister’s mood had improved and a happy glow graced her features, until she was brighter than the harvest moon.     

For a moment, Dawn was overjoyed, but reality was swift to dash her elation and hit her with dismay. 

_How is this a good thing?  Boggy’s-!  Well......he’s dead!  How can they possibly be together?!_

Was that why he was nowhere to be seen and Marianne was so miserable?  Did they realize it at the same time?  Or worse, _discuss_ it? 

Dawn’s heart broke for them, but she fisted her trembling hands resolutely.  She was jumping to conclusions.  There was no proof that such a thing had occurred, and she knew firsthand that her sister wouldn’t appreciate her meddling in her affairs. 

 _But I wish she’d_ talk _to me.  Why does she make herself face all her problems alone?  Because she older?  An intellectual?  I can at least listen!  I_ am _family!_

Of course, who was _she_ to complain, when she was so dangerously close to having the exact same issue?

Ever since she’d helped Sunny recover his memories, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything else.  School was a gray blur of white noise and even the subject of the Halloween dance and the costumes, music, decorations, and food that would be included failed to pique her interest as it had before.  She’d actually blinked in confusion for a beat yesterday when Nathan asked her what time he should meet her.  How could she have forgotten her date with the cutest boy in class?

Oh, she knew why.  If she was being honest with herself.  It was because of Sunny; spending all her free time with him, learning about his past and how he was just as much of a sweetheart then as he was now, building models, playing games, singing and dancing as he played his instruments.    

She’d never had a friend she loved hanging out with so much...

...and it scared her to know that it couldn’t last forever. 

After she was done with Bog, Marianne would probably try to get Sunny to cross over, and the very idea made Dawn want to do something drastic, like hide him away from her.  But that would be horribly unfair!  He had a _right_ to be with his parents! 

Assuming......he _could_ still be with them...

Something had been nagging at Dawn from the second Sunny had told her about what happened to him and his dad. 

Something _bad_.  

Aside from dying at the tender age of seventeen, with so much life left to live, Sunny claimed he’d stayed so his father wouldn’t be sad...but then Mr. Elfman was taken away and poisoned into forgetting about his son’s wandering spirit.  He died not knowing he was still sad underneath it all, and he’d crossed over. 

So, Sunny’s unfinished business...

.

.

.

...could never _be_ finished.  

He couldn’t be freed from this prison of an existence between two worlds. 

Dawn bit her lip to fight back the tears, loathing how helpless she was in this situation.  What could she do other than be with him for as long as she could?  But what about when she had to leave him?  Either when she and her sister moved to their permanent residence, or...when it was _her_ time?  He’d be lonely again. 

Forever.

She couldn’t bear it!  How could fate have been so cruel to someone so wonderful?  If only he were alive!  So many things would be different, _better_!     

But even then she felt terrible for thinking that way; getting so worked up over Sunny being a ghost.  It’s not like he could help it!  And he hated it, too!

... _You know, in a tragic sort of way, it’s funny......I can just hear him now...telling me not to worry, and that everything’s gonna be alright._

How did he do that?  Be so optimistic all the time?  Guess that’s why she liked him, and why they got along so well.  They balanced.

_He does all the soothing, and I do all the worrying._

Well, as per the norm, she began to take his advice, and put her mind on more cheerful things.  Amazing how he didn’t even need to be there to affect her. 

It was currently Saturday morning, and the party was this evening, being that Halloween proper fell on a Tuesday this year.  Sunny had popped into the kitchen while she was in the middle of her breakfast cereal, to tell her that he’d fixed the passage to his dad’s laboratory and to come to the library as soon as she changed out of her pajamas. 

Since it made her feel so pretty, and as a sort of respectful gesture to Sunny’s parents, she decided to go ahead and put on her fairy princess costume.  One less thing to do before the guests arrived tonight. 

The delicate silk and chiffon of her wings and skirt flowed elegantly behind her in the slight breeze she made as she walked along the corridor, but she paused just as she was about to pass Marianne’s suite.  The set dinner tray from last night was empty. 

Timidly, she stepped up to the door and gently knocked three times.

...

As she expected, there was no answer, but it hurt all the same. 

However, instead of immediately turning away, she spoke loud enough to be certain her sister could hear her. 

“Marianne......I just want you know I love you, okay?”

She continued on her way then, around the corner to the trick wall, not catching the soft whimper that broke the silence from within the locked room.  

Same as before, Sunny was waiting for her by the velvet chair, and she blushed when his chocolate eyes melted at the sight of her.

“ _Wow_ , you look _so_ gorgeous, Dawn!”

“Thank you.”  She muttered shyly and sat down.

“You ready to see my father’s lab?”

She gripped the armrests and nodded.

“Ready when _you_ are!”

“Here we go!”

Pulling the lampshade tassel, Dawn heard the metallic groaning again, but this time, to Dawn’s shock, the chair jerked backwards, sweeping across the floor to the top of the spiral staircase.  She gawked in surprise and trepidation as the iron steps flattened down smooth, and the chair proceeded to slide down them to the ground level, where a large section of the floor bent down into a dark and smoky hole. 

“Sunny!”  Dawn cried out in fear as she was swallowed into the blackness, and the opening closed behind her with a heavy thud. 

At first, she couldn’t see a thing, but she could sense that she was going very fast from the whistle of wind in her ears.  She shrank into the cushion, pulse hammering, but thankfully the chair slowed down and felt something bump against one of the wooden legs. 

Instantly, a tunnel was lit around her by yellowed light bulbs.  Dusty machines crackled and hummed with electricity, and a hidden, tinkling bell was ringing like an alarm. 

Just as she passed the mysterious contraptions, she gasped when a trio of old fashioned puffs, patted her cheeks and nose with powder.  They were gone as quickly as they’d come and replaced by a toothbrush. 

As she neared it, it rapidly twitched in a brushing motion, and she had to close her mouth tightly as toothpaste was smeared over her lips. 

After that, a pair of hoses on either side of the track squirted out a foamy white substance that just missed splattering all over her lap.

Following them, were twin straight razors going up and down in an alternating pattern.  That goo from earlier must’ve been shaving cream!  Regardless, Dawn ducked beneath the sharp blades and once she was safely out of danger, she was hit with a light spritz of moisture, and then a firm blast of warm air.

In conclusion to this bizarre ride, was a brown, wool vest was placed around her shoulders by a couple of robotic arms.       

Finally, the tunnel opened up into a huge, open area.  It was a chamber constructed of rocks from the cliff and concrete.  There was a row of small, round windows lining the top of the room, and in the center, was a pool of sea water, surrounded by a chaotic cluster of various work tables and dusty, cobweb-covered tools, chemical vials, mechanical parts, and half-finished projects.     

Dawn descended into the dimly lit space on a rail that resembled a classic Coney Island roller coaster, and came to a rolling stop at a desk piled with books and worn, forgotten papers.

Sunny appeared before her, looking giddy and eager to see if he’d impressed her.

“Well?” 

“What was _that_?”

“The Up and At Em’ Machine!”  He announced proudly.  “My dad was brilliant, but had some trouble getting himself going in the morning.  Mom always said he was the smartest and _laziest_ scientist in the world!”

“Very cool, but didn’t he ever hear of caffeine?”  Dawn joked, handing him the vest, which he folded and stroked lovingly.    

Rising from the chair, Dawn gazed around in wonder.

“So, this is your father’s laboratory?”

“Yup!” 

“Kinda messy, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, well down here he could whatever he wanted!”  Sunny explained, zipping in wide, excited circles.  “But no matter how busy he was, he’d drop everything to play pirates with me!  Man, we had so much fun!”

Reliving a past session of make-believe, Sunny morphed his left hand into a hook, and made an eyepatch and captain’s hat form on his head. 

“Ay, me buccaneers and buried gold!  Darkstaff does a treasure hold!”

They both laughed at his impression, completely unaware that they were being watched.        

* * *

Ever since the deal with Marianne had been struck, Roland had kept a close, inconspicuous eye on his mansion _and_ his little buttercup.  Every other day, he and Trey would park a mile further up the main road and then hike through the forest to creep up to a window with plenty of bushes around.  He had to say, he was surprised Marianne was able to stand that hideous beast of a ghost.  Even when he wasn’t trying to scare anybody, that thing was one ugly son of a bitch.  And to find out that that wrinkly, old bag of a caretaker was his _mother_!  Ugh!  That was definitely _not_ something he wanted to dwell on. 

Regardless, he didn’t like how this ‘Bog’ character had been getting so chummy with _his_ fiancé, nor the way he’d been staring at her lately.  Like he had a crush on her or something!  _Gross_!!!

_Dream on, dead man._

Though it would help if Marianne didn’t appear to be equally as smitten with the disgusting creature.  Boy, she’d been without a real man for far too long.  He’d have to fix that on their honeymoon, if not _before_.

Anyway, as the days went by and no crossing over was occurring, as well as no dearly-departed Springfield’s showing up, he’d grown bolder (and more impatient).  So, after checking to see if the ghost was still safely in the basement, where he’d been brooding since the fiasco Roland had witnessed on Monday, he’d deemed it safe to sneak into the house again this week, while the girls were still asleep, and take a look around for the treasure.  As long as they were quiet, and gone before noon, when the crone usually came, then it was fine. 

It honestly didn’t seem like Marianne was going to succeed at this point, not that he ever truly believed she would.  Therefore, he had to make sure he found that treasure in time for his moment of victory, when his blooming and stubborn bride-to-be admitted that she’d failed.  This haunted dump was no place for them to spend their forthcoming years of wedded bliss.

Apparently, luck was on his side this morning because he and Trey were rifling through one of the broom closets when they heard voices in the library.  Curious, the cautiously approached the cracked open doors just in time to see Dawn and that other spirit, Sunny, activate the secret passageway in the floor. 

 _Well, if_ I _wanted to bury treasure somewhere, what better spot than underground?_

He ordered Trey to copy Sunny’s actions, then they hurried through the dark tunnel, but he made sure that his friend went first.  Which was why Trey was now dripping with toothpaste, shaping cream, and blood from where the razors had nicked his cheeks.

Careful not to make any noise, they’d poked their heads around the lip of the tunnel’s exit just in time to catch Sunny inadvertently quoting the exact same words that were written on the back of the deed! 

 _There_ was their confirmation that this was legit and not some lousy hoax!  That boy and his dad had put the treasure down here!  It was perfect!  A former sea cave beneath a treacherous cliff?  Who would ever find this lab?  They were close, he could _feel_ it! 

 _Come on, short stuff.  Just one more teeny-tiny hint!_  

“So, where’s this Lazarus thing?”  Dawn asked, fiddling with a pair of rusty pliers.

Sunny gestured to the pool. 

“You’re looking at it!”

Peering into the murky depths, Dawn gave him a puzzled frown. 

“Down _there_? Heh, that’s useful.”

 _Oh, no._   Roland thought.  _Please, don’t say the treasure’s there!  How will I ever get to it?!_

“I _know_ there’s a way to raise it up...” Sunny murmured, glancing around in deep concentration, “...I just can’t...quite recall...”

“What about _that_?”

Dawn pointed to a massive metal door across the room with a combination lock in its middle. 

Sunny whirled around hopefully, but shook his head as soon as he saw what she was referring to. 

“That?  Nah, that’s the vault.”

The men froze, and a sickening grin spread over Roland’s face as he eyed the safe door with blatant greed.

 _Bingo!_  

With that, he seized Trey’s ruined blazer sleeve and led him to the edge of the track to climb down.  There was plenty of useless junk to crawl behind so they wouldn’t be seen.  So, while the children played around, they started their descent.    

 


	20. Chapter 20

Bog’s finger traced aimless patterns in the thick layer of grey dust coating a forgotten bottle of Merlot.  1932, the year his dad died.  Perhaps it was meant to be an anniversary treat that was never opened. 

He’d been brooding in the cellar for the past five days; hiding in the darkness, where he belonged, with his shame and sorrow.  There in the shadows, his memories gradually returned, still hazy in places, but far clearer than they’d ever been before.  And with them, came the pain.

The loss of his father, and having to take over his company all at the age of fifteen.  Struggling to keep King Fish co. thriving despite the Great Depression ravaging the U.S. economy, seeing the precious few friends he had go off to war after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, and...

_Evelyn._

He remembered how he thought she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, and how petrified he’d been of meeting her.  So, like a damn coward, he’d pestered Aura Plum to find out as much as she could about her and report to him.  Soon, he was convinced he loved her, so he sent gifts and letters in secret, hoping to win her heart with who he was, rather than what he looked like.

Bog was under no delusions now, nor especially _then_ , that he was in any way, handsome.  Besides his demanding work, that was precisely why he was practically a shut-in all his life.  He’d endured enough teasing in school to get the point.  No woman could tolerate his sharp, homely mug.  Of that, he was always certain, but his weakness for Evelyn allowed his senses to be clouded and he’d stupidly let Plum turn the tables and convince him to introduce himself at the party all those years ago. 

That awful night he’d tried to forget, and keep _on_ forgetting, was now clear as a glass shard, and it cut twice as deep as it had before.  He’d followed her out to the gazebo.  Everything was perfect: the moon was full, the air sweet and crisp, the string lights on the patio were glowing, and she was a vision in her formal gown of emerald-green taffeta, complete with the golden crown atop her head.  She’d come dressed as a queen.  He believed it was a fortunate sign of fate. 

When he’d stepped up behind her and she’d faced him expectantly with one of the pink champagne flukes Plum had preset for them, his breath caught him at how much of a goddess she was:  Waist-length, shimmering blonde hair, heavenly blue eyes, creamy flawless skin, alluringly slim figure, and a shy, innocent smile.  He took the other fluke and proposed a toast to them, which she accepted.  Swallowing his sip with a dry, nervous throat, he told her how he’d been admiring her from afar and was so pleased to finally have a proper chance to speak with her.  His confession was rewarded with a blush and he longed to stoke her cheek.

But his Shangri-La was over, for it was then that she asked him in a silvery voice to remove his goblin mask, and he did so, unable to deny her the sky and all its stars, if she so desired. 

He broke as the revulsion morphed her expression the instant he revealed himself.  Her features contorted as if she’d bit a lemon, and she paled, tottering backwards in shock and disgust.  Startled and desperate to grasp at the happiness he could see slipping away from him, he reached out for her.  The recoil was as harsh as a slap in the face, and she hurried past him out of the gazebo and back to the house, like a fairytale damsel fleeing from a dragon’s cave. 

It was the beginning of the end.  The merciless _agony_ of her rejection...there were no words accurate enough to describe it, but he wouldn’t have wished it on his _worst_ enemy.  He felt like a fool.  A hideous, worthless, fool.  The fact that he was the multi-millionaire son of a successful business tycoon, who’d employed hundreds and saved his hometown from financial ruin, meant absolutely nothing if _she_ didn’t care for him.  In a blind rage, he’d fired Plum and evicted her the next morning, blaming her for talking him into the whole ordeal. 

Then came the drinking.  Whiskey, whiskey, and more whiskey.  An endless stream of burning amber liquid he’d gulp down until his skin was numb, his angry speech slurred, and _she_ was just a mist before his mind’s eye.  But it wasn’t enough.  He had to keep going until no trace of her remained, yet she was a persistent phantom.  So, he’d pour another and another and another, day after day after day. 

It wasn’t long before King Fish co began to tank from his neglect.  Not that he cared.  He ignored the pleading concerns of his mother, his employees.  To hell with them!  To hell with everything!  What did it matter?  What did _anything_ matter anymore?! 

He recalled the abdominal cramps and the nausea, but had chalked them up to just the side effects of the alcohol combined with an empty stomach.  Even the yellowing skin and eyes didn’t raise any alarm bells.  He fancied it to be his true monstrous form coming to the surface. 

The liver failure snuck up on him like a mugger in the streets, and one evening, he tripped over a stool in the lounge and was out cold on the floor.  He never regained consciousness. 

His initial memories of being a ghost were seeing people rushing about the mansion in an uproar.  A hysterical red-headed woman was screaming for someone to call a doctor, but when said doctor came with an ambulance in tow, they solemnly carried a tall body concealed under a sheet down the stairs and into the back of the white truck emblazoned with a red cross.  The woman from earlier cried wretchedly for weeks. 

To now know that she was his mother, and it was his corpse on the stretcher was almost unbearable.  He’d avoided her until she and the rest of the servants and employees gradually left, and Darkstaff was vacant. 

Whoever his mom had sold the manor to must’ve not been wanting to occupy it, for he was alone for at least a decade.  He was confused and a little frightened, but he could do what he wanted, for the most part.  Occasionally, he would leave and travel around the U.S. until the invisible tie holding him to his house drew him back.  He met others like him, and learned more about his capabilities.  Besides music and reading, he’d spend his time at home practicing his new ghost abilities.  His progress was slow...

...until one particular weekend afternoon in April. 

A young couple came scampering into his domicile; giggling and pawing at each other.  They were only teenagers, searching for a spot to conduct their amorous attentions in private, but Bog was hit with an irritation that, at the time, he didn’t understand.  It consumed him, growing more dangerous by the second as he trailed them up the stairs and into a bedroom he realized now, had been his own.  They started to have sex, and for some reason, a hellish fury burst inside him.  He didn’t question it, he just gathered all the strength he could muster in himself to appear for the first time and roared at them to GET _OUT_!!!  He reveled in their horrified screams and how they fled, half dressed, into the hall and down the steps.  The boy even stumbled and fell head over heels, landing on the floor with a crash, breaking his wrist. 

Bog watched them sprint away from the mansion with sadistic glee.  He wasn’t sure what he’d discovered, but he was helplessly addicted to it.  Scaring people was a hoot.  If they didn’t come to him, he was more than willing to hunt them down for a laugh.  The energy required to make himself visible was strenuous, and he was rarely able to pull it off then, but usually moving things around or moaning and groaning like a ghoul did the trick. 

Then the 1960s came, and so did the Elfmans. 

A bald man moved in with his adolescent boy, Sunny.  They built a lab of some sort underground, and fill the air with the blues and rock n’ roll, which he didn’t honestly mind. From what he overheard, the father, Pare, was a retired engineer who’d recently lost his wife, Lizzie.  Sunny was annoyingly upbeat and loud, must’ve been his method for coping with the death of his mother.  Regardless, Bog entertained himself by messing with the boy’s head, making him think Darkstaff was haunted.  He didn’t know why he didn’t just make his pranks more obvious to the dad so they would leave.  Boredom, probably. 

But then the brat died, and Bog found himself with a permanent roommate he never wanted. 

He stayed hidden, to stave off any bothersome, ignorant questions about Sunny’s new existence, and the boy was too sympathetic for his own good.  One look at the grieving man he no longer recognized as his father, and he was a self-appointed guardian angel.  It was pathetic.  He had better things to do than watch some whelp flit around a widower as he tinkered away in his laboratory.    

One morning, he returned from his favorite tavern to find Mr. Elfman gone, and Sunny forgot all about him within a year. 

And so it was for a while, just him and the kid.  He was wonderfully easy to terrify and Bog made use of that whenever he felt like it.  As well as chasing away any other potential looters or curious youths.  So what if it was unkind?  What use did he have for his humanity now?  The world was his oyster and he’d milked it for all it was worth. 

Then his mother came home to Friendship and volunteered her services to the city as Darkstaff’s caretaker.  A position everyone was glad to give her with thanks.  The manor’s creepy reputation had already been firmly solidified.    

It made Bog sick to remember how he’d treated her those first few months.  It was a mercy that he’d inherited his stubbornness from her, because she would not be deterred.  She _made_ his memories of his dear old mom resurface...and as much as she could drive him crazy, he was deeply grateful.    

She kept him in line as best she could, but she was just one person, and her ever increasing age made it impossible for her to be constantly around.  The television she bought was a nice distraction, when is wasn’t playing any romantic garbage, that stuff made him extra ornery (for reasons he didn’t understand then), but the lure of frightening Sunny and the rest of the human masses was too great to resist for long. 

He was content.  He had his mom, his amusements, his freedom... 

What more could there be?  

.

.

.

The answer came in a pint-sized, powerhouse of a woman. 

Guilt and self-loathing made Bog curl in on himself.

His mother’s nagging all week had only made it worse.

_“Bog!  I know you’re down there and I know you can hear me!  You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”_

...

_“I didn’t raise you to be so thoughtless and mean-spirited!  I know you’re upset, but that was completely uncalled for!”_

...

_“You need to go to her and say you’re sorry!  Right away, mister!”_

Sorry?

Of course he was sorry.

He was sorry when he did it.

He was sorry he’d hid.

He was sorry he’d scared her so bad a month ago, she’d fainted.

He was sorry he’d attacked her with a sword and a cane.

He was sorry he’d called her a quack and a liar.   

He was sorry he’d shared with her.

He was sorry he’d grown so attached to her.

He was sorry he’d ever _met_ Dr. Marianne Springfield. 

Sorry he’d heard her voice, seen her burnt gold eyes, and inhaled her intoxicating jasmine and cinnamon cookie scent.   

But most of all...

...because of all this...

...he was sorry he’d fallen madly and selfishly in _love_ with her, and that even now, after everything that had happened, his only wish was to spend eternity by her side.     

* * *

In the lab below, Sunny was still trying to figure out how to raise the Lazarus from the water.  He flew around and around, tapping his chin and inspecting each cord and dormant generator that was supposed to power the machine.

Beside the pool, about eight feet off the floor, was a grated platform with what appeared to be a control panel.     

“Wait!  It’s gotta be _this_!”  He exclaimed, darting up to pull on one of the three levers. 

It was stuck. 

He tried the others, but the result was the same.  Frustrated, he continued to yank on them, thinking they were just rusty and needed a bit of elbow grease.

Wanting to help, Dawn searched around the messy desk, shoving papers and notebooks aside in the hopes of finding a switch or something.  Eventually, she uncovered a copy of Mary Shelley’s _Frankenstein_.  Guess the professor had a morbid sense of humor.  She moved to push it aside, but was surprised when it didn’t budge and inch.  In fact, it felt more solid than a regular book.       

Puzzled, she opened it.  Inside, rather than fiction covered pages, there was just a red button.

 _Okay, that_ can’t _be a coincidence._

She pressed it. 

Immediately, the room began to quake and a circle of lights came on beneath the water.  The pool bubbled as the Lazarus slowly rose from the bubbling pool, high enough to connect to the platform.  It was hard to believe this contraption was something that could bring back the dead.  From the outside, it seemed like a cross between an old- fashioned, one-man submarine and an igloo.    

“Hey, I did it!”  Sunny cheered, not seeing that it was really his friend’s doing.

But Dawn just subtly closed the book, letting him have his moment.

Sunny stroked the frame of a single door in the structure and smiled in awe at his father’s creation. 

Neither of the kids were aware of Roland and Trey, now safely obscured behind the Lazarus, trying to get into the vault, only to discover that it was locked tight.

Joining Sunny on the platform, while he gushed and gawked, Dawn noticed three teardrop-shaped bottles on a rack.  There was a wire frame protecting the glass and at the top, there was a small cap that reminded her of a lightbulb’s base.  Two of the mysterious bottles were empty, but the third was half-full with a strange, magenta-colored liquid inside. 

Unhooking the bottle, Dawn held it up for closer examination.

“What _is_ this?”  She asked. 

Sunny turned to her and gasped.

“Careful!” 

He swiped the bottle away from her and clutched it securely in both hands. 

“It’s what makes the whole thing work!  Kind of an instant primordial soup mix?  My dad developed it from some notes he found in the library about a special fish preservative some lady made here a long time ago.”

Dawn blinked at him.

 _My grandma!_ She realized.  _Marianne had, in passing, mentioned something about her living here once, working for King Fish co in the 40s.  And that she made a chemical to keep the fish fresh!_

“It’s what brings _ghosts_ back to _life_.”  Sunny went on.  “Just enough for _one_!” 

Almost as soon as he said it, his chocolate eyes widened with an idea. 

On the other side of the Lazarus, after shoving his useless lawyer over so he could fight with the door himself for a minute, Roland gave up with a grumpy huff.  Great, they had come all this way, and his treasure was shut up in an ancient vault.  They had no keys, no tools, no dynamite.  _Nothing_!  There had to be some way to get in there!     

 _Goddammit, I am NOT leavin’ this shithole emptyhanded!  Isn’t there_ anythin’ _down here that’s valuable enough fer me to-!_

_Hang on a second..._

_WHAT did that little runt just say?_


	21. Chapter 21

Sunny was almost vibrating with excitement.  This was it!  The timing couldn’t have been any more _perfect_!  He was going to take his father’s final gift of love, and make his fondest wish come true. 

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, he plugged the bottled into the converter and twisted the whole compartment into position, locking it in place to wait for activation.  Once that was done, he turned to Dawn.

“Pull the lever.”  He instructed. 

“Which one?”

“I don’t know,” Sunny shrugged, still smiling bigger than the ocean, “try one!”

Chewing her lip, Dawn randomly picked the middle lever.  Her luck was impeccable, for the submarine door to the Lazarus’s main chamber automatically unlatched and opened with a heavy groan.

“Sunny?”  Dawn nervously questioned as her friend crept close to the empty chamber, with almost greedy intent.

His only response was a wide-eyed glance over the shoulder and a single statement:

“I’m gonna be _alive_.”

Her expression of mixed shock, hope, and anxiety fueled his delighted determination. 

_Yes, Dawn.  It’s true._

_I’m gonna be alive._

_Alive so I can be with you..._

_...go to the dance with you..._

_..hold you..._

_...kiss you..._

_...and finally tell you how much I love you!_

So, without another word, he slipped into the chamber and closed the door, his expectant face winking at her through the tiny round window. 

Dawn’s mind was in a flutter.  Could the Lazarus really work?  Would Sunny _actually_ come back to _life_?  This felt like a movie or a dream!  God, what on earth would she _do_ when and _if_ he stepped out of there in the _flesh_?  At the very least, a hug was definitely on the list of immediate absolutes. 

_But first thing’s first..._

“Oh, man.  How am I going to do this?”  She muttered, glancing helplessly at all the buttons, knobs, and levers on the control panel.  “I couldn’t even get my easy-back _oven_ to work!” 

_Okay, okay, calm down.  Let’s...just start with another lever._

Gripping the handle of the left one, she pushed it upwards.  A whirring sound went off behind her, but when she checked, it was only the antique chair retreating up the track to the tunnel and, presumably, its original spot in the library.

_Nope._

Moving to the last lever, which was already in the up position, she tugged on it, but it was stuck.  She used both hands, but the damn thing was stubborn.  Leaning against the platform’s safety rail, she gave the lever a sharp kick and it fell as she’d wanted.

Instantly, there was a piercing whistle of an exhaust pipe on the roof of the machine.  The Lazarus, hummed deeply with grinding metal and electricity.  Dawn saw iron gears smoothly rotate, and needles rise in gauges she didn’t understand, but when white vapor filled the inside of the chamber, obscuring Sunny from her sight, her fear spiked. 

_Was this operating the way it was supposed to?  How would she know if it wasn’t?  Would Sunny get hurt?!_

Frightened, she rushed to the window and pressed her nose to the glass to see, but it was pointless.  Nothing but fog as think as pea soup. 

With her attention on the door, she failed to notice the hand that reached out, untwisted the converter compartment, and extracted the primordial potion. 

Dawn was startled when there was a whine and a muffled clunk from the Lazarus, followed by the steady murmur of its power petering out to silence.  Something in her gut told her that this had gone wrong somehow, and her worry for her friend’s wellbeing increased tenfold. 

“Sunny?”  She whispered like a child, and tremulously rapped on the window.

There was no reply.

Panicking, Dawn rushed to the middle lever and pulled it.  The door unlocked and swung open, same as it did before, letting out a cascade of warm smoke.  Fanning the murky air with her hands, she peered hard into the chamber.

Gradually, she began to see a simple chair, but what she saw draped across its seat cushion had her face draining of color.  No pun intended, but it looked like a sunny-side up egg the size of a bed pillow.  In the yellow center, a face with chocolate brown eyes was cheerfully blinking up at her.            

“Am I _alive_?”  Sunny asked eagerly.

Dawn was too astonished to speak, but thankfully, she didn’t need to.  Once Sunny’s...yolk began to run to the floor, he knew the unfortunate answer.

* * *

Marianne walked down the hall with slow, pensive steps.  Her suede boots barely made a sound on the faded carpet runner.  She’d finally emerged from her bedroom after five whole days.  The skin of her cheeks was still raw from all her crying; first from the guilt and fresh agony of what happened on Monday...

...and then from the decision she had forced herself to make.

She bore no grudge against Bog.  Though his use of her father’s image was inarguably cruel, she’d already forgiven him for it.  He’d been angry and hurt, and _she_ was certainly not someone to criticize a person for lashing out under such circumstances.  The initial weeks after she’d caught Roland cheating had been hell on not just her, but her family and friends as well.  They’d had to tread as carefully around her as they would a mine field; one wrong word or probing question set her off like an inferno.         

Still, the image of her dad had shaken her to the core.  It unleashed a resurgence of so many memories that would always be just that.  Halloweens, Christmases, Easters, birthdays, summer vacations, and even just regular old non-special days, she’d never share them with her parents again.  Even if she found them, which seemed possible since Griselda’s summoning ceremony was successful, it wouldn’t change the fact that they were dead.  _Forever_.

And it would be just _inhuman_ to hang onto them in their trapped state.  To force them back into their roles as her mom and dad.  As a psychiatrist, she knew it would be sick torture on them, her, and especially Dawn.  Somewhere buried in her heart, she’d always known that, whenever she spoke to them, it would ultimately be to get closure for herself.  To say goodbye to the parents she loved so much, and who didn’t deserve to die the way they did. 

 _I’m such a self-centered bitch_ , she’d thought, _the whole time, I never really considered crossing them over.  This was all for me.  Just a sad little girl, wanting her mommy and daddy.  Jesus Christ,_ I’m _the one who needs the therapy._

Which brought her to Bog.

A pang in her chest made her pause and brace her hand against the wall as impossibly more tears welled.  Tears of equal parts anguish and shame.     

_Idiot..._

Speaking of _her_ needing the therapy, she’d committed her profession’s rookie mistake number one:

She’d fallen in **_love_** with her patient. 

Yes, it was true.  And there was no denying it.  Even as she’d sobbed and wailed all week, some tender, yet selfish part of her longed for him.  To hear his voice, see his crooked grin and soulful blue eyes.   

Bit by bit, it had become clear:  why he made her laugh so much, why he made her feel nervous and giddy at the same time, why she trusted him completely, why she knew she could be herself 100% around him, and why she’d felt...off about Evelyn. 

_Jealousy is a very ugly thing._

The signs were so obvious.  How could she have missed them?! 

No.

No, she didn’t miss them.  She just deliberately hadn’t done anything about them. 

Was is because she was lonely?  Or nothing but a pathetic greenhorn who couldn’t follow the rules and keep her own emotions in check?

Who knows?  But what was done was done.

So, now she had to do what was best for the both of them. 

.

.

.

Pack her things, grab Dawn, and _leave_. 

It tore her to pieces, but what other choice did she have?  Continuing to see him as his doctor would be grievously unethical.  And seeing him as his friend......she was only allowed three more days in Darkstaff before Roland would kick her out, as he had every right to do.  It was legally his house! 

Waiting it out would just make it more painful. 

She’d figured out now that Bog’s unfinished business was to be loved in return, and dear God, he _was_!  So _desperately_...

...

....but she was a weak coward.  She couldn’t tell him.

She couldn’t let him go.  She’d already lost her parents.  Loosing Bog would destroy her beyond repair. 

_And you think running away is the answer?  For fuck’s sake, this isn’t about YOU!  If you care about him, then how can you leave him here all alone?  What right do you have to condemn him to be a ghost forever just because you’re too incompetent to do your job the way you’re supposed to?!_

“......I can’t help it...” she whimpered pitifully into the empty corridor, “...I......I _can’t_!”

_I’m not strong enough, and I hate myself for it._

Wiping her face, she drew herself up and proceeded through the hallway to the stairs, wrapping her sweater tighter around her slim form.  As far as she was concerned, she’d lost the deal.  And with the last shred of her integrity, she’d swallow her pride and endure Roland’s pompous ass and relentless gloating, for three years and three years only.  If he tried even once to touch her at any point during their sham of a marriage, she’d cut his balls off.  The second the trust fund opened back up, she was getting a divorce, an annulment, _and_ a restraining order.  She still had connections in Albany. 

 _But what will I do in the meantime?  What’s to stop me from sneaking away to visit?  Or sending letters or gifts I think he’d enjoy, if I’m so embarrassingly fragile?  What’s to stop_ him _from coming to_ me _?!_

Her head shook in disbelief.  That was absurd.  Bog had sworn off love after Evelyn, and just because they were best friends, just because they had fun together, and just because he’d basically admitted that......she meant a lot to him...did _not_ mean that he too was in this......as deep as she was. 

And even if he _was_ , it would only make things terribly _worse_. 

When she reached the library, she froze and her pulse sky-rocketed when she saw the very spirit in question sitting on the couch, waiting for her. 

Bog hadn’t known what to expect, much less _do_ , when he saw Marianne again.  All he knew was that he’d never been more scared than he was in this moment, staring at her stricken expression, which he was sure mirrored his own.

He opted for humor to break the tension.

Morphing a pen and pad in his hands and a pair of half-moon spectacles across his nose, he peered at her with a mock frown. 

“Vell, vell!  At last, ze patient ‘as arrived!  Late _again_ I zee!”  He lightly teased in the stereotypical impression of Sigmund Freud.  “Cood zees be an exprezzion of _hostility_ , doc?  Eet’s _yer_ hour!” 

Seeing her lips purse in an obvious attempt to hide her laughter at his horrendous Austrian accent through a natural Scottish brogue, he almost relaxed, but when the levity was washed away with sorrow, his guilt stabbed him anew. 

His apology was dancing on the end of his tongue, but he needed her to speak first; to let him know for certain that it’d be accepted.  She was stronger than him. 

 _Come one, stay tough, Tough Girl.  Where are yer words o’ wisdom today?  Please, I_ need _to hear them._

But there was nothing but silence as she dragged herself over to the desk, gathered a bunch of her personal textbooks and the picture of her parents...

_What is she-?_

...and placed them all back in the cardboard box from before.

!!!

Panic struck Bog like lightning. 

_No._

_No!_

_No, she can’t!  She **can’t**!  _ Please _, no!_

This had to be a joke.  A sick, sick joke.  Or a nightmare!  She couldn’t be serious!  She _couldn’t_ go now!  She couldn’t _actually_ want to leave!  She _couldn’t_! 

He tried to speak, but his voice refused to work.  All he could do was shout in his mind.

_Dorn’t leave me, Marianne!  Please, I’m begging ye!  Dorn’t leave me alone!_

_Ye know that sooner or later, one o’ ye has to go._

_Not yet!  I’m no' ready!_

_When_ will _ye be, ye bastard?_

_I dorn’t know!  I want more time!_

_Yer fuckin’_ dead _!  Ye have all the time there is!  She_ doesn’t _!_

 _I_ need _her!_

_SHE’S NOT YERS!_

He couldn’t help it.  Call him a villain in a fairy-tale, wanting to keep the beautiful princess all to himself, but he was powerless to fight his own avarice.  So, he bargained:

_Jus' one more night._

_Yes, let me have jus' one more night!  We both could use a break.  I’ll take her to my favorite place.  It’ll just be the two of us, away from the rest o' the world.  Doin' what we want, being who we want to be.  Together..._

_Happy Hour!_

“Happy Hour!”

Marianne glanced up at him, confused by his seemingly random statement.

“Happy...Hour?”  She repeated. 

Setting his jaw, Bog held out his solidified hand to her, and praised fate when after a brief period of deliberation, she hesitantly grabbed it.  A thrilling spark raced through them both at their first true physical contact and nearly cheering with glee, Bog swept her into his arms and carried her out the open window and into the fading twilight. 

As they flew further and further into the distance, a pair of male faces were watching them intently. 

* * *

When Roland and Trey had reached the end of the tunnel, it was just before the chair went back through the trap door to the library.  They’d pushed and prodded, but it was all in vain, they were trapped.  Luckily, after a minute of frantic searching in the blackness, Trey found a staircase hidden in the shadowy corner.  They followed it, dodging spider webs and rats to a wall that turned out to be the back of a china cabinet in the living room.  It creaked open and the men barely suppressed a yelp of surprise when they saw Griselda vacuuming in front of the TV.  Guess they had been fooling around in that lab longer than they thought.  Thankfully, the old crone had headphones on and her eyes closed to the melody, so she didn’t notice them. 

Quickly, they hurried to the library to sneak back outside, but before they could reach the window, they felt a cold draft blowing into the room and immediately, they dove behind the far left curtains just seconds before that damned hideous poltergeist appeared.  When Marianne arrived, Roland was sure they were done for, but their luck amazingly held out when the conversation was short (and odd), and the couple left without getting wise to their presence.    

“This is an outrage!  This is appalling!”  Trey grouched, shaking his head in disgust.  “You pay a woman to get a ghost out of a house, and what does she do?”

Roland smirked.

“She _gets_ the ghost outta the house.”    

The clueless lawyer blinked.

“Oh.”

Coast clear, the men slipped from their hiding place.

“Trey, do ya have _any_ idea what this means?”  Roland asked, examining the bottle they’d stolen with fascination. 

“Yes!  ...N-no.”

“Ya don’t have to be _afraid_ o’ _death_ anymore!  One minute yer a ghost, the next yer back on yer feet!  Free to come an’ go as ya _please_!”

“Hey, you’re right!  You could even fly through _walls_!”

“ _Thick_ walls...”

“Thick as _steel_.”

Roland stashed the potion into his pocket and casually approached a suit of armor by a bookshelf. 

“...So ya could get to whatever’s _behind_ those walls.”

“Like a _treasure_ , for example?”

“Exactly,” the blonde nodded, stroking the blade of a medieval battle axe, “an’ then snap, crackle, pop: yer alive again an’ on yer way to the Riviera.” 

“Yeah...,” Trey agreed, but then shrugged, “...if you were a _ghost_.”

Roland gave his friend a devious grin.

“If _you_ were.”

Puzzled, Trey looked over just in time to see Roland charging at him with the axe.  For a beat, he was too shocked to react, but when the blade came slicing through the air at his head, he let out a shriek and bolted around the desk, out of his crazy friend’s reach.  He attempted to make a run for the door, but Roland blocked his path.

“Dammit, Trey!  This won’t hurt a _bit_!”

Terrified, the lawyer spun around and jumped out the window, leaping over the porch railing, he sprinted around the right backside of the mansion, where the wood were closest.  He ran faster when he still heard Roland yelling after him, in hot pursuit.

“Stop bein’ such a wuss!  This is _business_ , come on!”

Not used to such intense exercise, and having no idea where he was going in the darkness, he collapsed against an oak and picked up a rock.  Panting, his grip tightened on his weapon as Roland’s footsteps came closer.     

“Now, Trey, if ya would just-!”

Swiftly leaning around the tree, he hurled the stone straight at his _ex_ -client! 

He was no pitcher, but his general aim managed to hit Roland square in the kneecap, and the guy cursed as he stumbled and fell to the ground. 

A glint of fuchsia rolled in Trey’s direction.  The bottle!  He snatched it up and took off again.  His exhaustion wouldn’t let him get very far, so he had to duck behind a fallen log next to a row of bushes.   

“Trey, yer takin’ this _way_ too personally!”  Roland growled from only a few feet away. 

Stomach twisting in fear the instant he caught a glimpse of that stupid mop of gold hair, Trey’s leg shot out.

Roland tripped over his intended victim’s shin, sending him sprawling into the bushes, but on the other side of said bushes, the terrain sank into a steep grassy slope.  Crying out in alarm, Roland flipped head over heels down the decline, arms flailing to slow his momentum, but it was no use.  The earth beneath him vanished as he tumbled off the edge of the cliff with a chilling scream.    

“ROLAND!”  Trey called, jogging to a spot about a yard away from where his former friend disappeared.  “ARE YOU A GHOST YET?!”

It was a ghastly accident, but well, if he was going to claim that it was no big deal, _he_ should volunteer himself!  Kinda difficult to feel grief over the death of someone who was _literally_ trying to kill you. 

He waited for an answer, but received none other than the slosh of the waves below and the howling wind.

“ROOOLAAAND!!!”

...

Nothing.

“What a tragic waste...” he mumbled, before starting to hike back up the hill, “he had my best sunglasses.”

He’d only made it halfway before an enormous, humanoid shadow fell over him.

“Not so fast there, _buddy_.”  An ominous and _familiar_ voice growled, and Trey paled in horror.  “Daddy’s _home_.”

 


	22. Chapter 22

Marianne was having the time of her life!  When she touched Bog for the first time, and _especially_ when he scooped her up as if she weighed nothing, and cradled her to his chest, she swore to God her actual _soul_ pulled a supernova.  Such an explosion of colorful tingles she hadn’t since...

No.

No, she’d _never_ felt this amazing solely because of a man before.

This was all Bog. 

She was thankful she’d gone with a sweater today, for his solidified body had no heat to share.  Frankly, it was like hugging one of those baby dolls with the kind of chilly, plastic skin that had little to no give.  But hell if she cared.  If this was as close to feeling human as he could manage, she’d take it gladly.  Her arms had locked tightly around his neck and she’d tucked her head beneath his chin, content to remain that way forever. 

Bog had flown them through the surrounding forest on the Darkstaff property, heading north, and once he was clear of the trees, he soared higher and higher over the coastline, dipping and swirling, much to her delight.  She laughed and squealed as he made one of her most favorite childhood fantasies come true!  To fly like a fairy beneath an ocean of glittering stars.   

The black earth beneath them passed by in a blur leaving only the sky and the sea a constant.  At one point, Bog paused at the peak of a high ridge and gazed at the enormous full moon hanging over their heads.

“Would ye look at _that_?”  He’d breathed in awe.  “The moonlight is _perfect_ right now.”

 _Sure is._ She’d thought, trying not to swoon as she saw how the silvery beams illuminated the captivating hue of his eyes, making them glow like blue fire.

He’d held her tighter and swiftly moved on.

When they’d reached their destination, she guessed they were so far up the edge of Maine, they might be just a stone’s throw away from Canada.  Bog had brought her to a karaoke bar situated on the top of a steep hill with a million-dollar view of the Atlantic from the windows. 

Bog explained that the place was owned by an old, retired bouncer named Brutus and that he would always close his business down during the colder months, and go live with his relatives until spring. 

As they neared the side door, which had less locks for Bog to fiddle with, Brutus’s white stray cat, Imp, was eating a mouse beside the trashcans.  It hissed at them as they approached and fled with his kill. 

Setting Marianne down, Bog warned her to watch out for the construction by the treacherous drop-off, only a yard or two away from the building.  Apparently, Brutus was wanting to build a larger deck, but it was still months away from completion. 

Once the door was opened and the neon lights were on, Bog had zipped into the back room and unloaded a decent amount of the stored away booze, while Marianne flipped on the jukebox. 

With music playing, beers in hand, and in total privacy, they relaxed and talked.

They began with apologies, which were heartily accepted.  Then Bog explained his side of the story with what had occurred between him and Evelyn, as well as what had... _happened_ to him from just before his death, to years and years later.  In return, Marianne told him about her awful history with Roland, and the deal she’d struck with him.

Both were beyond relieved that there were no grudges held; just understanding and forgiveness.

Neither one would dare get to the root of said understanding and forgiveness.  Oh, no.  Like a pair of fools, they danced around the subject of their true feelings, too afraid to take that bittersweet plunge.  They couldn’t.  It would destroy them. 

So they drank instead. 

When Bog had lined up the beer bottles across the bar, Marianne had made a comment about this probably being extremely unethical, her being a ghost doctor and participating in an activity that had ultimately led to her patient’s death.  But he’d assured her that, with no bloodstream nor brain of flesh, he was in no danger of intoxication.  And though Marianne had never been much of a drinker, if any situation warranted a release of inhibitions, this was it. 

By their third Allagash, Marianne was starting to really loosen up.  She laughed loudly, teased, and even inched a bit closer to her incorporeal heart’s desire, so could occasionally nudge or brush against him.

As for Bog, though he couldn’t feel the buzz from the alcohol, he was beside himself with joy all the same.  This was what they’d needed.  Just some time to get away from it all, and go somewhere where they could be alone and...pretend.  Pretend that they were _normal_ , and on a Saturday night outing together; like thousands and thousands of other happy couples out there.          

_Even if we’re not, and never can be, a couple..._

He was content to be here.  Watching Marianne’s smiling face, hearing her lilting voice, breathing in her delicious scent.  This was all he wanted. 

Soon, the doctor was very loosened up; enough to dive into the karaoke aspect of the bar, much to Bog’s amusement.  Despite the slur, her singing was still as beautiful as it was the first time he’d heard it. 

After listening to her belt out a few rock ballads, including a rendition of Elvis’s _Jailhouse Rock_ , which was fucking sexy as _hell_ , Bog had let her coax him into the stage with her for a duet. 

_You're walking meadows in my mind~_

_Making waves across my time~_

_Oh no, oh no~_

_I get a strange magic~_

_Oh, what a strange magic~_

_Oh, it's a strange magic~_

_Got a strange magic~_

_Got a strange magic~_

Bog had made sure to croon each line like a lullaby, never once taking his eyes off her.  When she periodically blushed and ducked her head, he pretended it was because of him and not the drinks. 

When it was over, he helped her as she half-stumbled her way back to the bar to grab another bottle.     

“Uh, Marianne?  Ye might wanna take it easy; ye’ve had like five o’ those in a row.”

“Can I jus’ say somthin’?”  Marianne asked, ignoring his warning and opening her sixth.  “Getta little... _personal_?”

“Erm...s-sure?”

“You remind me of......well, _me_!  Yer jus’ the...the kinda......person _I_ wanted to be when I finally dumped that ass-clown!  I mean, yer so...yer so...... _real_ , ya know?  Ya look at life with this, ‘yeah I’m a ghost, so _what_?  I don’t care what _nobody_ thinks!’ attitude!  I’m gonna tell that......brainless Ken doll...I’m gonna tell-...I’m gonna tell ‘im......that yer no’ goin’ _anywhere_!  It’s _yer_ house!  _Yer_ livin’ in it!  An’ possession’s nine-tenths the law!  So he can ssssssssssuck it!”

Chortling, she took a hearty swig.

“Marianne...”

“ _Shush_!  I won’t lie, I didn’t-...I didn’t think so a’ first, but _you_...yer......absolutely _great_!”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, I mean it!  I mean it, Bog!”  She insisted, leaning close to him.  “Yer the best...thing that’s ever... _happened_ to me!  Yer so much ffffffun to be with, an’ yer a really, really, _really_ nice person, an’ I can be my true self around ya, an’ ya _like_ that!”

“Well, I-”

“But yer kind of a _jerk_ , ya know that?”

“Huh?  Um......why?”

“Sometimes...I have naughty dreams about you, but you never...you never make a move when I’m _awake_!”

Bog gaped her, completely stunned by what she’d just told him.  He had to have misheard her.  There was no way she...

“I love you, Bog.”

!!!

“Wh-......what?!” 

“Ya heard me.”

A million thoughts and emotions spiraled through Bog’s mind.  He hardly knew what to focus on.  It was as if he’d been thrown into a raging whirlpool. 

 _She...she loves me?  She said she_ loves _me!_

_This is a dream.  I’m dreaming!_

_Wait...  No, I don’t sleep._

_Then, that means this is_ real _!  She_ **loves** _me!_

_And just how is that a good thing?  I doesn’t change anything.  I still have to let her go._

_Yes, but...but she feels the_ same _way_ I _do!_

 _She also_ wasted _, ye dumb shit._

“...Marianne......yer _drunk_.  Ye dorn’t know what yer sayin’.”

“Do _too_!”  Marianne pouted.  “M’not _that_ drunk!” 

This was a mistake.  A stupid mistake.  Why did he _torture_ himself like this?  He was fucking dead and she was living.  There could be _nothing_ between them, and that was that.  It didn’t matter how much he wished he was alive again, it would never happen.  You couldn’t change the way things were.  No going back, only forward.

Then, for the quickest of beats, he pictured the two of them flying through the diamond evening sky.  Her pale, vaporous hand in-

_NO!_

_Ye selfish son of a bitch!  How_ dare _ye imagine that!  Fer even a_ second _!  Take her home,_ now _!_

“Marianne, I think it’s time we call it a-”

“Ya don’t _believe_ me, do you?”  The doctor grumbled, pointing a finger at him.  “Ya don’t believe that I _love_ you!”

“It’s not that, Marianne.  It’s just-”

“I’ll _prove_ it!”

“Marianne, please, I-”

Whatever inane thing he was intending to say was cut off by Marianne pressing her lips firmly against his own.

.

.

.

Bog was frozen.  He didn’t know what to do, or say, or think!  It was miracle his molecules managed to stay close enough together so she didn’t pass right through him.  Against his better judgment, he kissed her back, though it killed him all over again to do so.

The kiss hurt.  Of course, not in the physical sense.  It should’ve been so much more.  A climactic, fairy-tale act of passion.  But there was no warmth...no taste...just pressure. 

He could not _feel_ her.

And he knew all _she_ could feel was the cold. 

If he were to wrap his arms around her body and hold her tight enough to bruise her ribs, it would make no difference.  He couldn’t give her the soft summer she deserved.  All he had was harsh winter.  What creature, with a beating heart and fire in their veins, would want to be enveloped by a cloud of ice?

When she released him, he broke down, curling over the bar and shedding invisible tears for the woman he loved so desperately but could not have.  Some people were not meant for love, and he had to accept that he was one of them. 

The universe mocked him by playing an instrumental version of _Can’t Help Falling In Love With You_ in the background.   

Marianne didn’t seem to notice his quiet sobs.  She was beaming with self-satisfaction as she finished the last of her beer. 

“See?  Told ya I’d prove it, ya ssssstubborn jackass!”

Laughter burst from her mouth and she slammed the brown bottle on the floor, shattering the glass shards over the linoleum.  

“Alright, baby!”  She loudly announced.  “The night is young, an’ we’re gonna...we’re gonna clean out... _every_ bar this end o’ Maine’s got!”

Bog was only partially listening, and Marianne began clumsily backing away to the exit.

“We’re gonna move it, ‘til we lose it!  Come on!  Come on!”  She beckoned. 

It was the instant Bog heard the squeaking of hinges that he snapped back to reality.  

The side door. 

_I forgot to lock it!_

“MARIANNE!”  He shouted in terror, chasing after her.  “MARIANNE, _STOP_!!!”

A crash and a piercing scream answered him before he even made it outside.    

* * *

Down in the laboratory, Dawn had spent over an hour trying to get Sunny back to his original form.  She’d scooped his goopy mass into a bowl and was relieved when he quit looking like an egg after about forty-five seconds, but when he couldn’t fix his shape, she scoured the area for something to use that might help.  The only think she’d found was a pair of dusty fireplace bellows in a pile of discarded tools and figured it was worth a shot.  So she shoved the nozzle into his mouth and started pumping.        

It had taken forever, but gradually, he began to look like himself again.

_Just a few more...and......_

With one final *fwoosh*, Sunny’s head and body were in correct proportion once more.   

“I think my ears just popped!”  He joked with a chukle. 

Dawn just sighed, glad that her friend was okay. 

But before either of them could say anything else, a thunderous cackle rang through the air and they saw a figure dart across the room and into the vault.

“What was _that_?!”  Dawn demanded, both alarmed and frightened. 

That didn’t sound like Bog. 

“I don’t know!”

“Come to papa!”  A voice cooed, just before the safe door swung open with a heavy bang. 

It was definitely _not_ Bog.  A different ghost was laughing heinously in front of them, and holding a large wooden trunk.

Sunny gasped, moving towards it.

“My treasure!” 

“Ya mean _my_ treasure!”  Their visitor angrily retorted with enough force to make Sunny recoil in fear.

Dawn’s jaw dropped.  She recognized that voice, that chiseled jaw, and those glossy curls!

“ _Roland_?!”

The spirit of her sister’s ex bowed formally.  What the heck was going on?!

“In the flesh, sugar-cube.  Well, in a couple o’ minutes, anyway!”

His snicker was interrupted by a whirring sound.  It was the chair coming out of the tunnel and into the lab.  Sitting in it, was Trey; his clothes even more tattered and covered in shaving cream!

“Trey!  What are ya doin’?”  Roland asked in annoyance.  “This is no time to shave!”

Trey bit his lip to keep from snapping.  Roland was getting on his last nerve. He’d used up almost two hours of his time getting the jerk to remember their plan, enduring all his insults and usual snobbery.  Funny, how all he had to do was say the word ‘treasure’ for the memory lightbulb to (somewhat) turn on in Roland’s mind.  The guy’s greed need to be studied or something.

“I’m helping _you_ , remember?”

“Remember _what_?”

“This!”  Trey yelled, holding up the life-potion.

“Hey!  You stole that!”  Dawn angrily accused.  “That’s _Sunny’s_!”

Roland just snorted.

“So _sue_ me doll-face!  Trey!  Bottle, _now_!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!  Alright?”

_Obviously, I can’t do much until this damn chair stops, asshole!_

Thinking fast, Sunny pressed a tiny black button on the desk, which made the chair jerk to a halt, throwing Trey out of his seat.

The lawyer scrambled to his feet and found himself almost nose to nose with Sunny. 

“G-get away from me!”  He stammered, tottering back a step.

Grinning, Sunny creeped closer and closer, guiding the scared man in an arc until, with a yelp, his arms flailed and fell into the pool. 

Sunny successfully grabbed the potion before it could hit the water.

“Here!”  He said, tossing it to Dawn and gesturing to the chair.   Jump in!”

Dawn did so, and quick as a flash, Sunny pushed the chair in reverse, all the way back up the track, through the tunnel, to its home on the library’s upper level.  They barely had a chance to take a breath before an unfortunate reminder literally came ringing.

* _ding-dong_ *

“Oh, _perfect_!”  Dawn groaned. 

Roland was a ghost, Sunny was apparently being robbed, and now the guests had arrived!  What on earth was happening tonight?! 

Instructing Sunny to wait for her, Dawn hurried downstairs to open the door, just as Griselda emerged from the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel. 

Mr. Curtis and a costumed crowd of her classmates and about four other teachers were standing on her porch.

“We’re here!”  Mr. Curtis greeted.  He was actually dressed as a lady bug.

“O-okay uh, hi!”  Dawn stuttered, still frazzled as she gestured awkwardly to the atrium.  “Come on in.  This is the...th-the room.  Stay together; you’ll be safe, and ah......I’ll be right back!” 

Immediately, the sprinted for the library.  She hadn’t even bothered to find Nathan.   

“Dawn!”  Griselda called in confusion.  “Sweetie, what in the world are you-?”

“I’ll just be a minute!”  Dawn squeaked.  Everything’s _fine_!”

With that, the library doors shut and locked behind her.

Perplexed, Griselda eyed the crowd, which was still loitering uncertainly on the front stoop. 

“Um......w-well...welcome to Darkstaff, everyone.”  She smiled, honestly not knowing what else to do besides play hostess.  “Come inside; there’s snacks!”

Her smile faltered when the huddled group nervously shuffled into the atrium as one unit.  They all jumped when a loud bark of maniacal laughter broke the silence, and Griselda frowned at the library closed library. 

 _Just_ what _are those kids up to?_  

* * *

Now, _had_ Dawn checked to see if Nathan was there, she would’ve come up empty-handed, for he was around the back of the manor, sneaking inside through the parlor window with a bundle under his arm, and Amber at his side.   

His brow and cheeks was painted with age lines and there was a fake, greying mustache stuck over his lip.  The hair at his temples was also dusted with grey powder.  Purplish makeup darkened the natural shadows beneath his eyes, and highlighted his mouth, making a striking contrast with his ashen face.  Across his neck, was a dash of red and the collar of his shirt was soaked with blood, making it appear as if his throat had been slit. 

Amber’s makeup was the exactly same, minus the mustache. 

“Amber,” Nathan hissed, “do we _have_ to do this?”

His girlfriend just smirked cruelly.

“She wants a Halloween party, she’s gonna _get_ a Halloween party!”

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

When Dawn got back to the library, Sunny informed her that he’d done a quick search of the house, and couldn’t find her sister or Bog anywhere.  What followed was a short disagreement about what to do next. 

“Look, I don’t know what those guys are up to, but whatever it is, it’s not good, and we have to _stop_ them!”

“Dawn, I agree with you, but I think is too dangerous for us to handle alone!  We should wait for-!”

“We don’t have _time_ to wait!  We don’t know where Marianne and Bog went, or when they’ll be back!  We have to do something _now_!”

“But, I-!”

“We’ll be _fine_ , Sunny! I’m not afraid of _Roland_ , Trey’s an _idiot_ , and I am _not_ going to let them get in the way of you living again!  You _and_ your dad have waited long enough!”

There was no arguing with the lightning in her blue eyes, so Sunny could do nothing but cave as Dawn sat in the chair and activated the switch herself, descending into the tunnel.  He went on a few feet ahead, toying with the Up and At ‘Em machine’s extensions, so his friend wouldn’t have to deal with any more toothpaste, shaving cream, shaving cream, or razors. 

When they made it back into the lab, Roland was nowhere in sight, but Trey was in the middle of trying to bust the lock on the trunk with a crowbar.

“Hey, that’s _my_ treasure!”  Sunny protested, approaching the man.

Trey whirled around and brandished the crowbar like a weapon.

“Stay back!  Keep away from me!”  He warned

Sunny scowled and made to do the exact opposite, but Dawn held her arm out.

“Sunny, no!”

“Don’t come near me, you spiteful spook!”  Trey growled.  “I’ll knock you into the next world!”  

A huff passed Sunny’s lips, but Dawn just rolled her eyes and herded him to the Lazarus. 

“Come on, let’s go.” 

She knew there was no way Trey could hurt Sunny, but that still didn’t mean she wanted to see the guy take a swing at him.  Besides, at the rate that moron was going, the trunk would remain shut tight for quite a while. 

Once on the platform, Sunny plugged in the potion and moved towards the door just as Dawn pulled the lever to open it for him, but almost immediately, Roland popped out of the chamber like a demented jack-in-the-box.

“TA-DA!!!”

Sunny reared back in shock, but made sure to keep himself directly between the adult ghost and Dawn; protecting her. 

“Hey, Poppin’ Fresh!”  Roland sneered.  “It’s _my_ turn in the oven!”

“Roland, why are you doing this?”  Dawn demanded. 

“Ah, let’s just say a man’s gotta have his dowry money!”

“What?”

“Yer sister’s gonna blow the deal!  I’m just makin’ sure I get what’s rightfully mine before we get hitched!”

Dawn’s face colored with confusion.  He wasn’t making any sense.

“Hitched?  What are you _talking_ about?  Marianne _hates_ you!  And what do mean ‘ _deal_!’”

“Trey!”  Roland barked.  “Tell her what ya told me!”

The lawyer sighed harshly, irritated that he was being interrupted in his task, but glanced up at Dawn and explained. 

“It’s true.  Your sister struck a deal with him to get rid of the ghost that was haunting Darkstaff, _and_ contact your parents before November 1st, or else she’d have to marry Roland.”

The information hit Dawn like a trian.  Her skin broke into a cold sweat. 

This had to be a mistake.  Marianne had made it more than clear over the past few years, that she’d rather eat week old roadkill than give Roland another chance. 

“That’s...that’s _crazy_!  You’re _lying_!  Marianne would _never_ make a deal like that!  No way!”

“Well, I’m afraid she did, young lady.  He offered her the manor _and_ $500,000 to tide you over until your trust fund opened again, if she succeeded.”

Pure bafflement plagued Dawn’s mind.  Of course, she’d known they were in financial trouble, but surely they couldn’t be so strapped for cash that Marianne would willingly consent to gamble herself away to someone she despised?  $500,000 was great, but you couldn’t put a price on someone’s dignity.

And offering them Darkstaff?  To live in, _permanently_?  That seemed suspiciously over-generous.  Again, why would Marianne-?

_You go with me this one last time, and if I don’t find what I’m looking for.......it’s over.  No more moving, no more ghost mining._

_You promise?_

_I_ promise _._

!!!

Dawn’s hands flew to her mouth.  Her knees trembled and there was a rush of vertigo in her brain. 

“...Oh my _God_...”

It was because of _her_!

Her sister was willing to sacrifice her pride and her freedom just to _keep_ the promise she’d made before they came here!  Marianne must’ve been desperate enough to think that this was the only way to get the stability she knew Dawn was hoping for.     

Crushing guilt twisted Dawn’s guts in a knot.  Yes, she wanted to settle down.  Yes, she wanted to stop moving all over the country.  And yes, she wanted her sister to forget about all this ghost stuff, but she absolutely did NOT want Marianne to _miserable_! 

 _Why?  Why didn’t she tell about_ any _of this?  Why does always have to be independent and stubborn?!  I would’ve talked her out of it!  We could’ve found a way to sort things out together!_

“...I can’t believe this.”  Dawn spoke aloud.

“Ya better, ‘cause it’s the Gospel truth, sugar pie!”  Roland chuckled.  “But we’ve been watchin’ her all this time and she’s hasn’t met _either_ o’ my terms!  Too busy pussy-footin’ around with that hideous thing she calls a patient!  Hell, right now she’s out somewhere gettin’ shitfaced with the beast!  Her time’s up in three days anyway, so I’m goin’ ahead an’ claimin’ half o’ my prize _now_!”

Smirking arrogantly, he crossed his arms and shouted impatiently at his browbeaten partner in crime:

“Trey!  Get this Lazarus thing cookin’ ya flaccid little worm!”

Unfortunately for Roland, Trey’s last nerve had been touched.  Feigning compliance, he hauled the trunk onto the platform and smoothly climbed the steps.  He’d been waiting for an opportunity like this for ages, and he was going to _enjoy_ the hell out of it.  

“Ah, Roland.”  He muttered, leaning casually against the railing.  “How kind of you to drop in...”

Roland quirked an eyebrow at the delay, but his smirk stayed in place.

“You know,” Trey continued, “if there’s _one_ thing I’ve learned from you it’s this: always kick ‘em when they’re down.  And buddy, _you’re_ six feet under!  Oh, what a _shame_.”

Everyone was shocked as the lawyer then reached over and detached the bottle from its compartment, and held it up as if he was intending to smash it on the concrete floor below.  Dawn and Sunny gasped, but didn’t dare move an inch.      

“Sorry, _pal_.  We’re through!”  Trey announced, swinging his arm.

Stunned, Roland spluttered in anger, making the other man pause.

“I am _not_ gonna forget this ya lousy, ungrateful, _bastard_!”

“Ha!  I got used to your shit long ago!”  Trey mocked, on a roll, and not in the least bit threatened.  “Go ahead, haunt me all you want!  But it’s gonna be in a great, big, expensive house with lovely, purple wallpaper, and lush green carpets.  And a teeny-tiny Chihuahua called ‘ _Roland_ ’.  A filthy _dog_ , just like _you_!”

Roland’s face contorted into a deadly scowl as Trey tauntingly shook the bottle and gestured to the trunk.

“Finally, _I_ got the power!  _I_ got the treasure!”

“ _And_ ya have a flight to catch!”  Roland snarled, before slamming his fist into Trey’s stomach so hard, the poor man went sailing through the air until his body crashed through one of the upper windows, and fell out of sight.   

Snorting, Roland caught the potion with ease and turned to the on-looking teens. 

“Any other takers?” 

“No.”  Sunny replied. 

“Didn’t think so.”

Dawn chewed her lip in frantic thought.  They _had_ to get that bottle away from Roland!  But _how_?  All Dawn could see in her head was the image of her sister in a wedding gown; her expression forlorn and the blossoms in her bridal bouquet grey and droopy.  She could even see a heartbroken Bog in the distant background!

 _I can’t let that happen!  I won’t!  Come on, Dawn!  Be clever!  Just because you’re younger doesn’t mean it’s impossible for you to outsmart him!  What would Marianne do?  I’m no fighter, but what else can I use against him?_  

.

.

.

_I got it!!!_

“But, um...aren’t you forgetting something?”  Dawn asked innocently.

“Forgettin' what?”

Puzzled, Sunny cocked his head at Dawn, and she gave him a subtle, but meaningful gaze.  When his eyes lit up in understanding, she thanked the powers that be for their unbreakable bond. 

Sunny grinned at Roland.

“...Why, you’re unfished business!”  He said. 

“My _what_?!”

“You know, ‘unfinished business’.”  Dawn repeated, sliding closer to her sister’s ex-fiancé.  “ _All_ ghosts have unfinished business.  That’s why they don’t cross over.”

“Unfinished business?  Psh!  I _have_ no unfinished business!”  Roland scoffed and grabbed the trunk under his free arm.  “I have my treasure, my mansion, and practically yer sister too!  I have _everything_!  I’m.  Just.  _Perfect_!”

Roland threw his head back and unleashed a cruel, maniacal laugh that made Dawn shiver.  For a moment, she feared her idea was a failure...

...but when a blinding beam of light stabbed straight through Roland’s chest, her doubts instantly vanished.

 _Game over, Roland._   

“Wait, _wait_!  I lied!”  Roland cried in a panic as more and more brilliant rays punctured his torso and arms.  “I _do_ have unfinished business!  _Lots_ of unfinished business!  I-I-I’m not _ready_ to cross over yet!”

Shielding themselves from the intense glare, Dawn and Sunny shared a smile of triumph.  Roland’s form was barely visible anymore. 

“NO, WAIT!  YA _TRICKED_ ME, YA GODDAMN ROTTEN BRATS!!!”

And with a final scream of rage, Roland burst into an illuminant explosion that briefly showered harmless, glittering sparks to the kids’ feet.

Blinking in the abrupt return of the laboratory’s dim lighting, Dawn was terrified to realize that the potion was dropping like a rock.  In slow motion, it flipped neck over base and Dawn hear nothing but her own racing pulse as she leapt forward with her hands outstretched.  She landed on her front, knocking the wind out of herself, and miraculously, the bottle tumbled directly into her palms; safe and sound. 

Her breath of relief was cut off by a startled yelp when the trunk bounced against the platform not ten inches from her fingers, busting the lid loose.  It was open!

The two teenagers peered inside, but Dawn was nonplussed when she saw that instead of coins or gemstones, there was only a worn baseball and catcher’s mitt nestled in the red, velvet lining.

“My treasure!”  Sunny gushed, picking up the ball and rhythmically tossing it. 

“A ball?  _That’s_ your _treasure_?”

“Are you kidding?  It’s autographed by the Silver Fox!”

“Who?”

“Duke Snyder of the Brooklyn Dodgers!  He was my favorite player!”

Rolling her eyes affectionately, Dawn caught the ball in midair. 

“Sunny.......it’s _time_.”

He stared at her, and Dawn’s heart fluttered.  The childlike hope shining at her was enough to make her want to melt!  She began to get excited. What would he look like when he was alive again?  What would her sister say?  What would they do, adopt him?

 _Oh, what does it matter?  He’ll still be_ my _Sunny, and that’s all I care about!_

When the Lazarus was ready with the potion, Sunny gave her a thumbs up before closing the chamber door, and Dawn was a breath away from pulling the appropriate lever, when a yell broke the silence: 

“Honey, I’m hoooooome!”

Dawn flinched in alarm as a pale figure zipped through the room and barreled into the desk scattering papers and random junk everywhere.  When she saw Bog anxiously following after it, at first, she was confused, but when he helped the figure sit up, Dawn’s blood froze in horror. 

Those amber eyes...

That wild, pixie-cut hair...

“Marianne?!”  Dawn shrieked, imploring fate for this to just a dreadful nightmare.

But it wasn’t.

That was indeed her sister.

And she was a **_ghost_**.

Fury overtook Dawn’s ghastly astonishment, and her blue eyes blazed accusingly at Bog.

“No!  What did you _do_ to her?!”

Bog’s ashen features were crumpled with grief, and he shrank under her piercing glower and tone.

“Dawn, I didn’t do _anything_ to her, I _swear_!”  He pleaded, in a heartbreakingly earnest voice.  “It was an _accident_!  She fell, an’...I couldn’t catch her in time!  I’m so _sorry_!”

“Oh, I _fell_ alight!”  Marianne giggled, draping her arms around Bog’s neck.  “Hard for _you_!  Come on, baby.  Let’s go somewhere more... _private_.”

She leaned up to kiss him, but Bog squirmed away.    

“Marianne, s-stop that!” 

Her memories were gone, but some of her drunken state must’ve carried over, hence her perpetually flirty and carefree attitude ever since the minute her spirit appeared before him.  She allowed him to brush her off with a shrug. 

“I’m free!  I’ve never felt so good in my life!”  Marianne declared, unaware of the irony in her statement, and shot into the air, flapping her hands like a bird.  “I can _flyyyyyyyy_!”

Clumsily, she dipped in an arc and collapsed halfway through the floor, her tail-end wiggling in the air, unused to her incorporeal body. 

Bog helped her upright and tried to hold her still.

“ _Please_ , Tough Girl.”  He begged.  “Jus' quit movin’ around!”

By this time, Sunny had emerged from the chamber, and Dawn had crept down the platform stairs, slowly approaching the couple, like a nervous kitten.

“Marianne?”  She murmured timidly. 

Her sister faced her, but without a _shred_ of recognition.  There was only general curiosity at hearing her name called.  

“Hey, who’s the kid?”

Both Bog and Dawn winced sharply at the question, but Bog gently nudged her towards the blonde.  If anyone could bring the old Marianne back, it was Dawn.  She’d known her and loved her the longest.  

“M-M-Marianne...” Dawn stammered and gulped, “...it’s...it’s _me_.  It’s _Dawn_!”

“Don?”  Her sister echoed doubtfully.  “Don!  What, like Don Quixote?”

“Marianne!”  Bog chided, but the woman kept going:

“Don Corleone?  Don Ameche?  Don Cheadle?” 

Marianne snickered at her own antics, but her humor dried up when she noticed the tears welling in this ‘Don’ girl’s eyes. 

“Uh-oh, flash flood alert!”  She groaned.  “Seriously, who invited the wet blanket?  She’s totally killing my mojo!”

Cuddling up next to Bog, Marianne gave a sultry purr.

“Babe, why don’t we take this party elsewhere?  Preferably some place dark and... _intimate_?”

“Cut it out, Marianne!”  Bog snapped, tugging himself from her grip and pointing to Dawn.  “ _Listen_ to her!”

Despite the hurt of being forgotten by the only family she had left, Dawn stepped within arm’s reach of her sister. 

“Marianne, don’t you remember?”  She asked, throat tightening.

_When you taught me to ride my bike?_

_When we got grounded for sneaking out to the Madonna concert?_

_When you showed me how to make a bacon and grilled cheese sandwich?_

_When we used to play dress-up?_

_When you punched that bully for teasing me on the playground?_

_When we lost mom and dad?_

Tentatively, Dawn raised her hand with her pinky extended.    

“Aw, yeah!  I remember!”  Marianne claimed, before grabbing Dawn’s finger and pretending to pull, blowing a loud raspberry. 

“No!  No!”  Dawn insisted as her sister cackled at the crude joke.  “No, _this_!”

Hooking her pinky with Marianne’s, the same as they’d done hundreds and hundreds of times since they were children when they made promises to each other, and her sister’s expression bloomed with realization at last.

“... _Oh_...!”

Bog sagged against the desk with bittersweet relief. 

“Oh, _Dawn_!”  Marianne breathed in remorse.  “Oh my God, what have I _done_?”

Unable to bear it any longer, Dawn started sobbing.  Her parents were dead, and now her sister was too?!  What was she supposed to do without her?  All she could think about was every moment she’d ever been mad at Marianne and wishing she could take it all back if it would undo _this_!

But she knew it wouldn’t.

“Dawn, oh _sweetie_ ,” her sister soothed, cupping Dawn’s cheeks in her icy hands, “please don’t cry!  Aw, Dawn, I...I...”

Sunny joined the pair and firmly took hold of Marianne’s wrist. 

“Come on, Dr. Springfield.”  He instructed, leading her away from Dawn and to the Lazarus.  “You need this more than I do.”

“Sunny...”  Dawn whispered, amazed at his act of selflessness, but her friend just shook his head resolutely.   

“This is the way it has to be.”

Seeing the trepidation on Bog’s face, he kindly reassured him:

“Don’t worry, uncle Bog.  This’ll make things right.”

When the door opened for Marianne, she hesitated and turned to Bog.

“Bog...”

“No, Marianne.”

He didn’t want to hear it.  She did _not_ owe him _any_ apologies, whatsoever. 

“But, I-!”

“Marianne, _get_ in that machine before I _shove_ ye in!”  

Face shadowed with sorrow, Marianne disappeared into the chamber and the door automatically locked.  Sunny placed his hands on the lever, and everyone silently prayed that their _only_ solution would work.     

 


	24. Chapter 24

Everybody held their breaths as Sunny threw the first lever.  The Lazarus trembled and roared with life.  Exhaust geysers whistled from its pipes, and electricity crackled and fizzed through the wires, drawing in so much power the lights flickered even from all the way upstairs, giving the guests a good dose of alarm. 

Dawn’s hands were clutched beneath her chin as Sunny proceed to push and pull the remaining levers in a short sequence.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bog looking hollow-eyed and frightened, as if he was about to fall apart.  His gaze was riveted to the chamber door.    

Her heart broke for him and her anxiety doubled.  She knew this would destroy the both of them if this plan failed. 

The bright magenta liquid of the life potion drained into the machine, and Dawn felt the sting of tears again. 

_Please...please..._

Gradually, the Lazarus calmed, and without even realizing it, Dawn had slowly crept up the platform steps to stand beside Sunny.  The wheel lock on the door spun and her throat ran dry.  When the door carefully swung open, pouring waves of white smoke into the lab, Dawn’s legs refused to move.  She was too afraid to see inside. 

For a moment, there was nothing, and Dawn felt another wretched sob building in her chest.  Which was why she gasped in shock when a flesh and blood hand grasped the chamber frame and Marianne stumbled out, disoriented, but alive and well. 

“MARIANNE!”  Dawn cried and threw herself into her sister’s arms, weeping with joy. 

Her body was blissfully warm and solid once more, and Dawn reveled in the fact, hugging Marianne with all her might, worried that she might vanish into thin air if she let go for even a single second.     

“Dawn!  Oh, thank goodness!”  Marianne sighed, returning the embrace with equal fervor.  “It all just...felt like the _strangest_ dream!  I thought we almost lost each other for a minute there.”

She pulled back just enough to lovingly run her fingers through Dawn’s hair and wipe her wet cheeks with her thumbs before kissing her forehead and cuddling her again. 

“Butterfly...”

The two ghosts watched the sister’s tearful reunion with profound relief...

...but there was a sadness tainting them both. 

Of course, Sunny was deeply pleased that Dawn had her big sister back, but he hated himself for also feeling somewhat envious.  His only hope for becoming human again was now gone forever; he would be trapped this way until the end of time, maybe even longer.  He tried to force down his pitiful emotions by remembering that he loved Dawn, and her happiness was what the mattered the most to him. 

As for Bog, he was overwhelmed with comfort to have Marianne the way she was supposed to be, but with it, came the bitter and painful reminder that they could never be together.  Not in the way he so desperately wanted.  And he hated how difficult it had been to resist her ghostly form and drunken advances as he’d led her home.   

Life or death; either was impossible for them.

Too ashamed of his own selfishness, which had ultimately led to this travesty in the first place, he quietly vanished without anyone’s notice. He needed to be alone right now.        

Another minute passed with the sisters fussing over each other until their attention was caught by the distant rhythmic pulse of a pop song’s base coming from Darkstaff’s atrium.  The guests must have finally set up the stereo system.

Turning to Sunny, Dawn’s smile faltered at Sunny’s expression.  There was a tiny grin on his lips, but his eyes were sullen.  She’d be going to the dance without him.  Despite that being the original understanding, after everything they’d been through by this point, it felt wrong. 

“Your party’s starting without you.”  He said.

As Dawn stared at him, sympathy and respect brimmed in her very soul for her best friend in the whole world.  What he had given up tonight, just for _her_ sake!  She wasn’t used to such devotion, but it made her want to hold him close for the rest of her days. 

_I might be just a teenager...but I’m pretty sure that I......that I’m in-_

“...And your date’s probably waiting.”

Dawn winced at the reminder, but she wasn’t even surprised at how little she cared for it.  How could Nathan hope to compare anymore?  The date she’d been so excited for now seemed like a prison sentence. 

Heck, the whole _thing_ seemed like a complete waste of time!  The things she knew, and the things she’d _seen_ tonight...  She’d never be the same.  Who else up there could be as enlightened?  Everyone around her would be inane and clueless as to the wonders she’d witness; kept out of a great secret she couldn’t reveal, because they wouldn’t be able to comprehend it; the magnitude of it!  They’d just run away in terror.  She had been irrevocably matured by all this, and that truth made her all the more distraught about Sunny. 

Her mouth opened to say something, anything, to chase away the shadows form his face.  To soothe him in whatever way she possibly could.  Assure him that she would gladly stay with him as long as she could to save him from his loneliness as he’d saved her from her own, _twice_.      

But Marianne beat her to the punch. 

“Maybe we should get going.”  She suggested.  “Can’t imagine what Griselda thinks might have happened to us, but mum’s the word, at least until tomorrow, okay?”

Sunny and Dawn nodded in perfect sync.

“Okay.”

“You got it.”

Nobody wanted to volunteer _that_ information to the caretaker.  No doubt she’d go ballistic. 

Dawn sighed.  Her conversation with Sunny would have to wait.  But it would happen, by God.  She would tell him what he deserved to know. 

Her sister took her arm and made it a few steps across the platform before pausing and glancing blinking around in confusion. 

“Um...where _are_ we?” 

* * *

After giving Marianne the short version concerning their location, though they had no explanation as to where Bog was when she realized his absence, they all made their way back to the upper level of the library. 

The dance was in full swing, ow that the music was playing and the decorations had been set up.  Darkstaff’s atrium was filled with kids and handful of supervising adults.  Some were mingling, and other were rocking to the beat, but there was still a sense of nervousness in the air.  Griselda was pouring punch and (in-between checking her watch), was having an animated discussion with Mr. Curtis. 

Sunny made sure to duck out of sight as soon as the sisters peered over the edge of the second floor’s open gallery to watch the festivities.  For several moments, they both just stood there, not really interested in joining, but Marianne knew this get-together was still important for Dawn socially, and that she was the host, so she gave her a nudge.

“Well, go ahead.” 

“What about you?”  Dawn asked hesitantly, reluctant to leave her sister behind, under the recent circumstances.

“Hey, this is your party.”  Marianne encouraged.  “Go do your thing.”

But Dawn wasn’t going to let her off that easy. 

“Marianne, why didn’t you tell me about the deal with Roland?”

Her sister froze and frowned at her. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, about how you’d have to marry him if you couldn’t make Boggy cross over and find mom and dad before November 1st.”

“...H-how do you know about that?”

“He told me earlier.”

“What?!”  Marianne snapped, cheeks reddening in anger.  “Roland was _here_ , talking to you _alone_?!  That son of a bitch!  Where is he _now_?!   I swear, if I find him skulking around, I’ll-!”

“You won’t have to.”  Dawn cut in.  “He won’t be bothering you or anyone ever again.”

Marianne cocked her head at the teen, puzzled.

“Huh?  What are you talking about?”

Taking a deep breath, Dawn explained everything that had happened in the lab beforehand; from Roland’s burglarizing scheme, all the way to his permanent demise.

“That unbelievable creep.”  Marianne muttered when Dawn finished, not bother to pretend she held any remorse for Roland's fate.  “I’d say ‘may he never rest in peace’ but, I think we _both_ know better than that.  You know, it’s funny.  I’ve been attempting to get Bog crossed over for weeks, but you made Roland do it in less than a minute!  Maybe _you_ should be the therapist. ”

“I'll pass...so _why_ didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Sighing, Marianne ran a hand through her hair.

“I don’t know, Dawn.  I guess I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“Did you think I _wouldn’t_ be worried when your wedding day came and you looked like someone ran over your foot?” 

No answer.

“Marianne, why do you always have to decide for yourself what I can and can’t handle?  Just how childish and self-absorbed do you think I am?”

“I don’t-”

“I know what you’re trying to do, Marianne, but it's never gonna work that way.  You _are_ doing a great job, but you’re my _sister_ , not mom and dad.”

Marianne gazed at Dawn with such tenderness, she couldn’t resist scooping up her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I know,” she whispered, “I’m sorry, Dawn.  I...I just wanted to keep my promise to you, and I didn’t see any other option.”

“That’s why you should’ve _talked_ to me!  To me, _no_ promise it worth you being miserable!  We’re a team!  We’re _family_!  We have to solve problems together!  Please, _don’t_ keep me out of the loop anymore!”

“Alright, Dawn.  I won’t.  But you know, to be fair, had I told you about the deal and let you talk me into refusing, we never would’ve come here.  You never would’ve met Sunny.”

“And _you_ never would’ve met Boggy.”  Dawn concluded with a small giggle.  “Okay, good point, but I _still_ wanna know about things from _now_ on!”

“You will.  No more secrets.”

“Thank you.”

Marianne replied with a nod and released Dawn’s hand.

“You’re missing out, Butterfly.”  She said, gesturing to the atrium.  “Go hang, or chill, or kick it, or whatever you call it.”

Dawn laughed at her sister’s awkward hip talk. 

“Don’t you have a date out there?”

The merriment dried, but Dawn covered it with a subdued beam, which Marianne answered by placing another kiss on her forehead. 

“I hope no one saw that.”  The blonde joked, before turning to descend the staircase, leaving her sister on her own with her thoughts about a certain poltergeist.  

* * *

Bog had been wandering aimlessly through the ground-level rooms surrounding the atrium, invisible as oxygen.  So far, they were all empty.  He supposed the guests weren’t brave enough to venture further into the manor.  Well, he didn’t need their distracting chatter anyway. 

His mind was full of Marianne.  He knew he was being a coward, and already he felt the almost magnetic tug, coaxing him to go to her.  Her proximity alone was magic when it came to soothing his agitation, and yet, she could simultaneously drive him mad.  That woman was a paradox.    

_No wonder I love her._

It was truly amazing how much she’d changed him.  Here he was, a vengeful ghost, in a spooky mansion with a pack of jumpy kids barely fifty feet away, and he wasn’t even remotely considering scaring the daylights out of them all.  No matter how much crazy fun it would be.   

He’d promised not to crash the party, and if he broke his word, both Marianne and Dawn would be disappointed in him, and that was unacceptable.  Geez, when did he get so soft?  Hell if he knew, but he wouldn’t trade it for all the stars in the sky. 

Bog did his best not to mope over the fact that there had been a machine under Darkstaff this whole time that could resurrect the dead.  Had he known, he could’ve avoided all this heartache.  He would be with Marianne as a man _should_ be with a woman. 

But no... 

That wouldn’t be fair to Sunny; he knew about it first. 

 _Man, now I’m puttin’_ Sunny’s _feelin’s ahead o’ my own?  Heh, I really have lost it._

He was being ridiculous.  What was done, was done.  Why was he sulking down here by himself instead of spending what precious time he had left with Marianne?  Call it greedy, but he honestly couldn’t bring himself to give a rat’s ass.   

 _Screw crossin’ over.  I_ know _where I belong._

His resolution was interrupted as he entered the parlor and heard shuffling and hushed voices. 

Two teenagers, a boy and a girl, emerged from behind an art deco partition screen.  They were oddly dressed in matching tattered brown robes wrapped in chains, and their faces were made up to appear as a sickeningly pale older man and woman with their throats slashed. 

“How do you know this is even gonna work?”  The boy demanded, fiddling with the chain looping his waist.  “We have no idea what they even looked like!”

“It doesn’t matter!”  The girl dismissed, flipping her corn-silk tresses away from her eyes.   “Everyone knows the story by now!  _And_ they think her sister’s nuts!  They’ll use their imagination!”     

“I still say this is too mean!”

“Duh, that’s exactly what I _want_!  Who wants to be friends with someone whose sibling could be a murderer?”

Bog scowled dangerously at the couple.  If these worthless, nasty punks were planning on cruelly ruining Dawn’s night by insulting Marianne _and_ the memory of her parents, they had another thing coming.  He’d show them ‘too mean’! 

The girl strutted over to the ornate mirror on the opposite wall and gaped appreciatively at her reflection. 

“Whoa...” she marveled, “you’ve gotta see this!  People are gonna _freak_!”

The boy huffed and trudged over to the mirror.  When he caught sight of himself, he seemed to forget all about being ‘too mean’.  He was totally enchanted by how creepy he and his friend were in their get-up.  

“ _Cool_!”

Seizing his opportunity, Bog crept up behind the pair and reappeared.

“Thank ye!”  He grinned evilly, curling his claw-like fingers around their shoulders and flashing his eyes from calm blue to an angry blood red.  

Instantly, the would-be pranksters let out deafening screams of horror and bolted for the parlor door. 

Bog hid himself again and inwardly cackled as the terrified teens barreled through the crowded atrium, much to the astonishment of their classmates, but the best part was when their chains got tangled and the girl fell over, bumping her head against the floor, and ended up getting dragged out of the mansion by her shrieking partner. 

Assuming it was bit of comedic entertainment, the students and teachers all turned to a quite baffled Dawn, cheering and clapping.  Bog smirked in triumph.  Guess in some aspects, one could still have their cake and eat it too.      

Seeing Marianne on the upper landing, Bog flew to her side and materialized in the shadows. 

“Gee, what on earth do ye suppose got into _those_ noisy brats?”  He asked playfully.

“Not a clue.”  Marianne shrugged with mock oblivion.  “The way they carried on, you’d think this place was _haunted_ or something!”   

* * *

All the way up in the attic, Sunny was despondently whiling away the hour in his old room.  He let his model train, Hooty, pass through him until he lost count. 

 _This_ was what he had to look forward to, what he’d wanted to escape from so severely, the endless solitude and boredom.

Was he a fool for hoping that things would be different?  That he could have his life back, or even forever?  With her?

Who knew?

Regardless, he didn’t regret it.  Tennyson had been right on the money about all that love and loss stuff.  He would be eternally thankful for the time he knew Dawn, and even if she never knew the depth of his feelings for her, he was content to have been her friend.

Picking up his Duke Snyder ball and sitting on his merry-go-round model, he absent-mindedly threw it into the air.

Once...

Twice...

...and it didn’t come down.

Bewildered, his eyes shot to ceiling where he was father stunned to see a brilliant light shining through the wooden rafters, as bright and beautiful as the morning sun.  The light moved over his head by the windows, and Sunny gasped in awe as two gleaming shapes drifted down before him and came into focus:  

A man and a woman, the latter of which was holding Sunny’s ball.

“You’re...” he breathed, captivated by their ethereal glow and familiar faces.

The woman smiled kindly.

“Uh-huh.” 

“ _Y-you’re_...!”

“That’s right.”  The man chuckled as the woman expertly tossed the ball into Sunny’s hands.   

“Dawn’s _parents_.”  


	25. Chapter 25

Sunny gaped at the couple in front of him.  He’d never seen a sight so beautiful!  Despite emitting a soothing, heavenly light, Mr. and Mrs. David and Kristen Springfield seemed as human as they were in the photo by Dawn’s bed. 

Mrs. Springfield was a gorgeous, slender woman with long, glowing platinum blonde curls and forget-me-not eyes.  Clearly, Dawn took after her.  Mr. Springfield was a tall, portly man with silver dusting what was left of the rich brown in his swept back hair and trimmed, matching full beard and mustache.  His eyes were emerald gems.           

They were both clad in flowing robes of soft blue and gold that seemed to rustle from an invisible breeze, and their voices echoed as if they were speaking inside a holy chapel.  Their presence alone made a wave of calm and even joy envelop him. 

Was _this_ the form that awaited you after you crossed over?     

“Are......are you _angels_?”  He asked breathlessly.

Their affirmative smiles were so bright and loving, that had he been alive, he would’ve blushed a deep red. 

“That was a very noble thing you did tonight, Sunny.”  Mrs. Springfield said.

“We know Dawn will never forget it.” Continued her husband.  “She needs her sister.  _And_ we know your _father_ will never forget it either.”

A quiet gasp came from Sunny as she dropped the ball to the floor at the mention of his father, and the knowledge that he’d been watching over him all along.  He had _never_ truly been alone.

“You fulfilled his greatest dream, Sunny,” Mrs. Springfield added, “and we know both he _and_ your mother are very, _very_ proud of you.”

Not used to such kind praise, Sunny squirmed shyly, and his face pinched with the human instinct to cry, as any good son would after being told he had the approval of his wonderful parents, whom he still missed so much.

_Will I ever see them again?_

“So,” Mr. Springfield went on, breaking Sunny from his thoughts, “for what you’ve done, we’re giving you _your_ dream in return.”

!!!

_Say what?_

_Seriously?!_

_They could DO that?!_

“Yes,” Mrs. Springfield agreed, nodding her head, “it’ll be sort of a Cinderella deal.” 

Sunny could hardly believe what he was hearing.  Even if it was only temporary, for he knew the fairy-tale well, he’d gladly give _anything_ to have what they were offering.  He was so sure he’d lost his chance forever, but if they meant what they were saying, he was going to make it count. 

_I can finally tell Dawn...!_

“So I have until _midnight_?!”  He questioned excitedly.  “Cinderella got until midnight!”

The Springfield pair exchanged a quick look Sunny couldn’t read, and grinned at him. 

“Sure.” They replied together, and Mr. Springfield chuckled.  “I think he’s old enough, don’t you, dear?”

“Oh, _absolutely_!”     

With that, Mrs. Springfield bent down and gently blew a handful of sparkles into Sunny’s face.  Instead of passing right through him, they shimmered and expanded, clouding his vision like thousands of tiny drifting snowflakes, and he began to feel a strange tingling sensation... 

* * *

Downstairs in the atrium, Dawn sat by herself in a corner as her classmates paired off for a slow, romantic song.  No one approached her, and though it was boring and a little sad sitting there alone, part of her was glad of it.  She’d recognized Nathan, charging out of the house with Amber like two bats outta hell.  She hadn’t a clue as to what they’d been planning, but she thought it was safe to assume that her date had been a sham. 

However, funnily enough, she didn’t even pretend to care.  What had she seen in Nathan?  Just a good-looking face?  Like Marianne had seen in Roland?  Ridiculous...

She knew the truth.  There was only _one_ person she wanted to be with at this party, but he couldn’t be here. 

_Every now and then~_

_We find a special friend~_

_Who never lets us down~_

Dawn sighed as the dulcid tones of Jordan Hill seemed to vocalize her thoughts.  She had indeed made a friend; the most special friend the world could ever hope to conceive.  And the wonderful things he’d done for her!  How could she possibly repay such generosity and affection fairly?  She wished he was here so they could talk and dance......just be _together_.      

She was so caught up in her longing, she at first didn’t notice a stranger coming down from the third floor on the opposite staircase. 

_Who understands it all~_

_Reaches out each time you fall~_

_You're the best friend that I've found~_

The mass of teenage couples parted as the newcomer, a male youth of seventeen, steadily crossed the room, heading straight for Dawn.  The girls looked at him with keen interest, the boys with suspicion.  When Dawn saw him, he had stepped free from the crowd.

He was dressed like a dashing hero in a nineteenth century adventure novel: in dark pants and knee-high boots, a white ruffled shirt, and there was a plain ebony mask concealing the top half of his face.  His skin was an attractive shade of mocha and his black hair was fluffed and slick.   

She felt the customary flip in her stomach from being singled out by a guy in such a setting, and though her initial inclination was to ignore him, a force beyond her understanding or control made her keep eye-contact as he stopped in front of her.

_I know you can't stay~_

_A part of you will never ever go away~_

_Your heart will stay~_

He extended his hand with a friendly smile, and Dawn shocked herself by accepting it and letting him lead her through the throng of swaying guests to the center to the dancefloor.  Vaguely, she was aware that he was cold to the touch. 

She couldn’t stop staring at him as they walked.  Was she losing her mind?  Or was there something... _familiar_ about him?  In the shape of his mouth and nose?  In the soul patch on his chin?  The freckles dotting his dimples?  His eyes were shadowed by the mask, so she couldn’t get any hints as to his identity there......but far more peculiar than the physical stuff was what she could _sense_.

He was trustworthy and compassionate.  She didn’t know _how_ she knew that, but she just did.  She could _feel_ it, like heat from a mug of cocoa or her favorite quilt.

_I'll make a wish for you~_

_And hope it will come true~_

_That life would just be kind~_

_To such a gentle mind~_

When he coaxed her into a gentle waltz, relaxing into his hold somehow felt natural.  As if under a spell she didn’t want to break, her eyes never left his.  She ached to ask him who he was, but the words wouldn’t come.  So she just moved with him. 

_If you lose your way~_

_Think back on yesterday~_

_Remember me this way~_

_Remember me this way~_

Her cheeks flushed when he draped her arms around his neck, drawing her closer, and she couldn’t help the timid grin.  His scent reminded her of a fresh garden in the summertime, with just a dash of sawdust and baked bread. 

There was a sensation of weightlessness that made Dawn giddy...at least until she happened to notice that that was because they were literally floating several feet in the air!

Gasping in alarm, she clutched her partner, but he only gave a quiet laugh and protectively tightened his grip around her waist. 

“See?”  He said cheerfully.  “I’m still a good dancer.”

Dawn froze. 

_That voice!_

She’d know it anywhere!

As Dawn leaned away, the mystery man, peeled off the mask and the chocolate brown eyes she loved so dearly gazed earnestly into her own wide blue orbs. 

“Can I keep you?”  He whispered.

“ _Sunny_?!”

His answer was a wink.

Dawn was too bewildered and frankly overjoyed to speak!  Here he was!  Sunny!  In the actual flesh!  She had so many questions!

_How-?_

_When did-?_

_But what-?_

_Was this-?_

_OH, WHO CARES?!_

Laughing, Dawn threw her arms around him in a strong hug she didn’t plan on letting him out of for quite a while.  And judging from the way he returned her embrace, he was fortunately on the same page.  She’d hear the story later.  Right now, she just needed to be held and dance...

...with the boy she _loved_.     

* * *

A heavy silence had fallen over Bog and Marianne.  The doctor had been surveying the party below, but not really focusing on it.  She’d barely even noticed a relieved Griselda waving at her from the refreshment table.

Never had Marianne been more aware of the chasm between them than she was at this moment.  Though she still didn’t mourn his passing in the least, with Roland gone, her hesitancy to contact her parents, and her unwillingness to send Bog away, there was no way she could keep Darkstaff and claim her money.  Ever efficient, Roland had mailed her their agreement in writing a week into their stay, so even if anything were to happen to him, all she’d have to do is submit proof that she’d completed her objectives to Trey, and both the mansion and money would be hers.  Also, she wasn’t too worried about the lawyer’s well-being; she’d seen the man get ‘accidentally’ backed over by Roland’s car once and make a full recovery. 

Still, how was she supposed to finish her task when the first half of it was tearing her apart?  The bleak outlook of her and Dawn’s financial future and living arrangements for the next three years was awful enough, but she was surprised at how much less it hurt compared to her dismal musings over Bog. 

Her memories of this evening up to when she emerged from the Lazarus were hazy, but a few key things stood out, and they made her tremble.  She knew it was selfish, incredibly selfish, to not do everything in her power to help him cross over, and she loathed her own pathetic weakness. 

God, she’d thought she’d turned her back on love and romance and all that other garbage, but boy, had she been wrong.  She hadn’t known what love, real love, was until she’d found him.  Her dearest friend, with his crooked grins, rumbling Scottish voice, silly jokes, and enthusiasm for the countless things they had in common. 

_I never used to believe in soulmates, but he’s permanently changed that for me.  He is my soulmate; I love him.  How can I send him somewhere I can’t follow?_

_If you really love him, you’ll let him go._

Marianne’s heart broke at the truth, so horribly just _and_ unfair at the same time.  In the grand scheme of things, had Bog lived, he would’ve been old enough to be her grandfather.  This was unnatural and cruel, to him _and_ her.  He was supposed to be resting in eternal peace, not remaining tied to this world, especially by her own foolishness. 

Guilt crashed over her, so sharply, she gathered what shaky resolve she could muster and opened her mouth to speak.  She wasn’t sure if this would do the trick, but at the very least, she needed him to know her feelings. 

“Bog,” she began, swallowing the dry ball in her throat, “there’s...something I need to tell you, now that I’m...well, _sober_.  I-”

“Please, dorn’t say it, Marianne.”  Bog interjected. 

“But, Bog, I-!”

“ _Dorn’t_ say it.”

“...... _W-why_?”

He looked at her and her breath caught at the melting warmth in his overwhelmingly blue eyes. 

“Because if ye do,” he murmured sadly, “then I’ll say it back, and it’ll all be over.” 

A bolt of lightning couldn’t have struck Marianne harder.  She felt the wetness gathering in her eyes at his veiled confession.  Strength killed, she could do nothing but just stand there, quietly weeping.  His icy hand came up to brush away the tears on her cheeks, turning them to snowflakes on her skin. 

It was then that she felt a teasing whistle of air from behind.  Turning out of curiosity, Marianne and Bog saw only a closed window.  From seven separate panes, its simple shape resembled a cookie-cutter angel, and the moonlight had filled it up with silver, washing out the stained glass patterns.

And something was moving through it into the hallway. 

Two slowly solidifying shadows. 

 _Human_ shadows.

Then they came into focus and Marianne felt the whole world come to a complete stop. 

It wasn’t...

It couldn’t be!

“Hi, sugarplum.”

It _was_! 

Marianne gasped at the nickname she thought she’d never hear spoken in that voice again.  Since she was a baby, only her mother had ever called her that.

_Because you’re purple and sweet all over!_

There they were.  Her parents.  After all this time.  Beaming at her as if it was a regular Sunday morning a decade ago.      

“M- _Mom_?”  She croaked in a child’s tone.  “ _Daddy_?”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.”  Her father soothed, as they approached carefully.  “It’s just us.”

Bog feeling like an intruder, backed off to the side.

Unable to move otherwise, lest she wake up from this perfect dream, Marianne was shaking from head to toe.  She was as helpless, scared, _and_ as giddy as a spring lamb.  Her parents were still...deceased, but they _didn’t_ forget her.  They weren’t ghosts.  She had found them, or more accurately, _they_ had found _her_.    

“I...th-thought I’d have a hundred things to say,” she breathed in a quivering tone, “but...... _how_...?  How are you _here_?”

“Let’s just say you know a crazy ghost who kept his word.”  Her mother replied, grinning at Bog.  “Even if he didn’t realize it.  Energy is a powerful lure, but emotion as brilliant as _love_ is always stronger.”

Marianne glanced at an astounded Bog and swore she fell for him all over again.

“Marianne, we know you’ve been searching for us,” her dad said comfortingly, drawing her attention, “but there’s something you need to understand.”

“You and Dawn loved us so well when we were alive, that we _have_ no unfinished business.”  Her mother explained before her expression grew solemn.  “ _Please_ don’t let us be yours... _again_.”

Ashamed, Marianne chewed her lip.  Somehow, deep down, she’d suspected it all along.  That they were happy on the other side, and that she didn’t need to chase after them. 

Yet, she needed them!  She wasn’t a parent!  How was she supposed to keep things together?  To do _right_ by their youngest daughter, when she herself was just their _oldest_ daughter?

“But, Mom...I don’t......I don’t really know what I’m doing...”

Her mother laughed kindly.

“Honey, not even _we_ did.  No one does.”   

“Marianne,” her father added, “Dawn is growing up _beautifully_ because of _you_.  You’re doing a _wonderful_ job, and we couldn’t be more _proud_ of you.”

Marianne swallowed the grateful weep that threatened to burst from her like a ruptured dam. 

“No wonder I miss you guys so much.”

There was a pause, with her parents smiling consolingly at her, until her mother raised her finger the way she used to when she was about to lecture.

“Just a couple things though: don’t pick up the extension every time she gets a phone call.”

“Unless it’s a boy.”  Her dad clarified.

“ _David_.”

“Oh, alright, fine.”  He grumbled.  “French fries are _not_ a breakfast food.”

“And don’t ask her to wear a t-shirt-”

“-under her bathing suit...I know.”  Marianne finished with a tiny smirk.

“Yes...” her father agreed, “unless it’s a bikini.”

“ _David_!”

“What?”

“For goodness’s sake, she’s-!

“-a _teenager_!”  They stated at once. 

Marianne laughed at her parents’ antics.  They were the same as she’d always remembered them, and the fact gave her such bliss. 

The sound of her merriment put an end to their superficial squabbling and their gazes softened to a degree that squeezed Marianne’s lungs with the desire to start crying.

And when her mother’s hand, warm and solid, came up and combed her unruly bangs from her eyes, she couldn’t resist another second.  She launched into her parents waiting arms, and it was like going back in time.  The cushion of her dad’s big belly, her mom’s fruity scent that never failed to remind her of a tropical island.  It was just as it used to be a thousand times before, and she had the rarest chance to experience it _one_ last time, _after_ death. 

She sobbed as a little girl again; _their_ little girl, clutching them tight, and burying her face in their chests as they stroked and shushed her. 

In the distance, the clock chimed midnight.        


	26. Chapter 26

As the dusty grandfather clock rhythmically chimed the hour, Sunny reluctantly raised his head from Dawn’s shoulder.  He had known this wouldn’t last, but it hurt that their moment was over, regardless.  Already, he could feel the tingling sensation of his human form melting away.  He should’ve fled, but like a selfish fool, he clung to Dawn until the last possible second.  

* * *

“Wait...”  Marianne pleaded weakly, wanting more time she knew she couldn’t have when she felt her parents leaning away.  “Where are you going?”

The couple smiled reassuringly and cupped her cheeks in their hands.

“Where we can watch over both of you until we’re all together again.”  Her mother replied, catching a stray tear with her thumb.

A tremor of hope and comfort passed though Marianne at that.  How had she not considered the fact that they were waiting for her?  Of _course_ she would be with them again someday; she just had to be patient and live her life to the fullest in the meantime.      

“But before we go,” her dad noted, “we have one last gift for you and Dawn.  See that it’s not wasted.”

Confused, Marianne stared as her parents drew out of her grasp and her mother fixed her attention to Bog.  With a radiant beam, she made a single grand sweeping motion with her left arm, trailing the shimmering fabric of her robe’s sleeve through the air, where it covered Bog completely and seemed to melt off into his form like shrink wrap. 

He flinched in bewilderment, and after a beat, clutched his chest and gasped sharply as if in pain.  _Great_ pain. 

“Bog?”  Marianne asked nervously.  “Are you okay?”

His only answer was to moan in agony and collapse on the carpet runner, writhing and thrashing.

Now truly frightened, Marianne flung herself onto her knees beside him, hands hovering, unsure how to help. 

“Bog!  Bog, what is it?!” 

But he couldn’t speak, and Marianne desperately looked to her mom and dad, opening her mouth to demand what they’d done to him.  However, her question died in her throat when they appeared perfectly calm and serene. 

“Goodbye, sugarplum.”  Her mother said, and her father gave a parting nod.  “We love you, _always_.”

They then gently vanished through the angel window from whence they came. 

Panicking, Marianne crouched over Bog as he continued to wail from his mysterious, onset affliction.  

* * *

Downstairs, the same phenomenon was taking over Sunny.  Almost as soon as his ghostly body returned, a crushing pang struck him with enough force to tear him from Dawn’s arms with a yelp.  He very quickly lost the strength to remain upright, and instead dropped to the floor, curling into a ball and whimpering. 

Dawn, knelt beside him, begging to know what was wrong as bedlam erupted around her.  His cries had alerted the party guests to his presence, and a symphony of hysterical screams and thundering footsteps echoed through the atrium as the crowd of teenagers and teachers sprinted for the front doors.  Only Griselda rushed forward to see what the matter was, but she was just as powerless and confused as Dawn.   

Sunny tried to say something to Dawn, anything to banish the terror for him in her eyes, but all that came out was more anguished cries.  The throbbing was so intense he rolled and twitched uncontrollably.  

* * *

Marianne frantically tried to comfort Bog, though she had no idea what he was experiencing nor when and if it would stop.  For an awful second, she thought he might be crossing over, but no...this wasn’t how Dawn had described it when it happened to Roland.  So, if that wasn’t the case, then just what the fuck was going on?  How could he be in physical pain, when he was a ghost?

Then she saw it. 

The change.

Gradually, she began to see that he was solidifying, but not like before.  His transparency faded and his cloudy, white color grew to a pale peach.  She could make out details: scars, stubble, hair that was now dark as ink.  A pair of long, skinny legs, clad in black pants and dress shoes took shape below his torso, which was now wrapped in a stormy grey button down shirt.   

Hesitantly, she reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.  It was firm; she could feel the muscles tensing beneath fabric and flesh. 

Was this _real_?

Was this actually happening?! 

* * *

Dawn was as equally shocked as her sister, if not more so.  Sunny was...transforming back into the boy he was when they’d danced, clothes and all.  His rich caramel skin gleamed beneath the orange Halloween string lights, his lower body sprouted legs

Then, like a summer rain, his suffering died down and he lay still and panting, understandably freaked out. 

“My heavens...”  Griselda breathed in wonder. 

On shaky arms, Sunny rose into a sitting position, and trembling fingers roamed over his once again solid chest and face.  Dawn took one of his hands in both of hers and squeezed it, reveling in the fact that instead of the cold, there was now nothing but warmth.

“Sunny,” she gushed, almost vibrating with joy, “you’re _alive_!  _Really_ alive!”       

“I...I _am_?”

With his free hand, Sunny touched his hair, his ears, his calves, everything; hardly able to believe it.  He even pinched himself and actually felt the sting!

“But-but _how_?” He demanded aloud.  “I thought...I thought it was just temporary!”

“Sunny.”

“I mean, of course I’m super _thrilled_ about this, but I just don’t get why they-”

“Sunny.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

!!!

That certainly put an end to Sunny’s babbling.  He froze like a statue and gaped at Dawn’s smiling face.  Had he heard her right?  Did she truly mean that? 

“...... _Me_?”  He asked, oh _so_ articulately.

Dawn nodded eagerly, making her golden curls bounce.

“ _You_.”

She then threw her arms around his neck and pressed her soft, flawless lips to his in a kiss that made Sunny imagine that he’d died all over again and finally gone to heaven.  Her addictive taste reminded him of sunshine and mangos.  He cradled her to him, content to stay this way until the world came to its end.   

The teens were so enthusiastic, Griselda decided it would be prudent to give them some privacy by gathering some discarded Dixie cups and slipping into the kitchen, just as there was a timid knock on the back door.  

* * *

Marianne’s jaw was wide open as Bog coughed and struggled to sit up.  She barely knew what to say or do at the sight of one of her deepest and most desperate dreams come true.  This was impossible!  Things like this didn’t happen!  Life wasn’t a fairy-tale!

And yet, here he was: back from the dead. 

Bog was at least as equally astonished as she was.  His long-fingered hands patted himself down and he experimentally bent his knees and rolled his ankles; limbs he was fifty years out practice using to get around.

He stilled when he felt the heated pressure of a palm against his heaving breast.  Marianne was feeling his awoken heartbeat.    

“It _is_ real.”  She whispered in awe, eyes scanning him all over.  “My God, we’ve _both_ been resurrected!  This is _incredible_!  How did they _do_ it?  Do you feel alright?  Do you need anything?  Like water or an aspirin or-?  Mmph!”

Her questions were all forgotten the instant Bog grabbed the back of her head and covered her mouth with his own.  A feral gasp filled her lungs and she practically clawed at him; needing him closer.   

They could both feel it: no more icy vapor, only skin that was blissfully warm.

No. 

That wasn’t accurate enough.

It _seared_. 

The caress of lips, nip of teeth, and dance of tongues burned deliciously.  There was all consuming fire everywhere they touched, scorching to their souls.  Lost in their passion, they clumsily rolled around on the rug, and Marianne rejoiced in it all!

His masculine strength.

His groans of pleasure.

The full weight of him between her legs!

When they had to break away to keep from passing out, Marianne was straddling his waist and just as flushed and breathless as he was. 

“Are you okay?”  She panted.

He huffed with laughter and shook his head.

“Honestly, I have no idea.”   

She leaned down to kiss him again.

“Should we get up?”

*kiss*

“Yeah...in a minute.”

*another kiss*

“Or two?”

“Or _ten_?”

“Ten’s good.”

*and another*

“Damn, I love ye, Tough Girl.”

“I love you too, you wild thing.”

*more kissing for what turned out to be a _quarter_ of an hour* 

* * *

By the time Dawn and Sunny had finished _their_ make-out fest, and the latter was helped to his feet, the kids were just staring at each other, smitten; with their foreheads joined, fingers intertwined, occasionally nuzzling and giggling.

This was probably why they didn’t notice the two adults descending the stairs until they heard a trio of rapid thumps, as if someone was stumbling on a step. 

Looking over, Dawn saw her sister assisting a tall, thin man she didn’t recognize down into the atrium.  His spindly and quivering legs were like those of a baby horse learning how to walk, but Marianne had a steady grip on him.  Not easy, since he pretty much _towered_ over her!    

“Marianne!”  She called, running towards them in excitement.  “Marianne, you’ll never guess what-!”

Dawn stopped, eyes popping.  The gaunt face and lean physique might’ve been a coincidence, but there was no mistaking _those_ baby blues!    

“B-B- _Boggy_?!”  She spluttered in disbelief.  “Is that _you_?!”

“No, it’s ‘ _Bog_ ’.”  The man grumbled. 

Yep, it was his voice alright.

“Heh,” Sunny chuckled, coming up to Dawn’s side.  “Well, how about _that_?  How ya doin’, uncle Bog?”   

Bog glanced at Marianne with a tender smile.

“I’m fantastic.” He answered before sighing.  “But...I think ye should start accompanyin’ me to therapy.  ...I’m ready to be the uncle ye _deserve_.”

Sunny’s expression was astounded, but he was quick to respond with the nodding blush of a child’s innocent hope. 

“What a night.”  Marianne commented, shaking her head.  “So amazing...”

“But I don’t get it!”  Dawn spoke up, sliding her hand onto Sunny’s again.  “How did it all happen?”   

Her sister snorted, way too emotional to explain everything at the current moment.

“Trust me, we’ll discuss the whole thing in _excruciating_ detail tomorrow morning, Dawn.  Right now, how about we-?”

“My precious **_BOOOOOOOOY_**!!!”

Everyone jumped as Griselda bolted through the room at a speed unheard of for a woman in her late nineties, and barreled straight into Bog’s lower stomach for a bear hug.

“OW!”  Bog shouted, doubling over.  “GOD... _DAMMIT_ , MOM!”

 _Why_ did she have to be so bloody _short_?!

“Bog, you alright?”  Marianne asked in concern.  It had taken everything in her power to keep the three of them from toppling to the floor.

“I-I’m... _fine_.”  He croaked in a tight voice as his mother pulled back to dot his cheeks with loving pecks.  “Just......just a...downside to havin’...a certain...part o’ my anatomy back.”

 _Won’t be a downside for long._ The doctor thought with an inconspicuously naughty grin.

“Oh, my sweetheart!”  Griselda cooed.  “My baby!  My beautiful son!”

“Okay, okay, mom!  Relax, would ye?”

His mother only wept with pure elation.

“Can’t help it, dear!  I’m too happy!  I love you so much, Alan!”

Recovered (and _moved_ ), Bog patted her hair and hugged her back. 

“I know.  I love ye too, mom.” 

“Don’t you ever put me through this again!  Do you hear me?”

“I worn’t, mom.  I promise.”

For several following minutes, everybody mingled pleasantly.  More embraces were exchanged along with a few apologies.  And then came the evening’s final icing on the cake:

“Oh, by the way, dear!”  Griselda exclaimed, shoving her hand into her pocket and withdrawing an envelope and handing it to Marianne.  “There was a very peculiar young man at the back door a little while ago.  He instructed me to give this to you.”

“Who was it?”

“I’m not entirely certain, he was so filthy and sopping wet, but I’m 90% sure it was that Trey fellow.  He wouldn’t say anything else other than, ‘screw this’ and ‘I need a vacation’.  Then he just got into his car and drove off!”   

Curious, Marianne opened the envelope and peered inside.  Apparently, Trey had indeed survived his violent dip in the ocean, for nestled in the sleeve, was the worn, crinkled deed to Darkstaff, and a certified, pre-signed check from Roland for _$750,000._

_The extra for renovations..._

Well, thank God the late asshole was so diligent about covering his ass!

There was much whooping and hollering from the group when Marianne announced the contents.  Dawn was bouncing on her heels as if on a sugar high.  Bog, now used to his balance, had scooped Marianne into his arms and spun her around in circles.  Much to their immediate embarrassment, however, Griselda squealed and then loudly pointed out how she’d like to see some grandchildren very soon, considering her geriatric age. 

As for Sunny, ever the optimist, he just smirked, pleased that things had worked out.     

“Gosh,” a beaming Dawn said to him, “a mansion, money, _and_ new boyfriends!  Not bad for my first party, huh?”

He stroked her wrist.

“Couldn’t have been better.”

“It ain’t over yet!”  Marianne countered.  “ _Bog_?”

Her man automatically slapped a button on the stereo, and the Mickey & Sylvia rhythm and blues hit came pouring forth from the speakers. 

_Love~_

_Love is strange~_

_Lot of people~_

_Take it for a game~_

The couples paired off to dance, sometimes swapping partners as Griselda watched and clapped to the beat; cheering them on.       

_Once you get it~_

_You never want to quit~_

_After you've had it~_

_You're in an awful fix~_

_Many people~_

_Don't understand~_

_They think loving~_

_Is money in the hand~_

_Your sweet loving~_

_Is better than a kiss~_

_When you leave me~_

_Sweet kisses I miss~_

The music drifted outside to the cool, glittering night.  Even the property’s forest trees seemed to sway merrily to the tune.  Darkstaff was bright and cheerful once more with their collective euphoria, as it would be for many, many more years to come.  They had their home, their lives, their security, and they had their love to carry them into forever. 

Their family. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are the best kind of support! Love you all!!!  
> <3


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